The Skin Changer
by maritess342
Summary: Abigail Mills is everything to everyone. But can she find the courage to be herself? Casefile/Friendship/Slight Romance.
1. Introduction

**Title: The Skin Walker**

**Part: 1/?**

**Summary: Abigail Mills is everything to everyone. But can she find the courage to be herself?**

**Genre: Casefile/Friendship/Slight romance**

**Rating: K-T safe!**

**Author's notes and disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters, but dang, is Sleepy Hollow amazing or what?**

* * *

**Introduction**

A child and dog play in the woods. The fading light of the setting sun streams through the trees and paints the dog and child in an ochre light.

A voice in the distance calls for the child and dog to come and leave the park, but instead, the child and the dog don't listen and continue to play their game of chase.

The sun begins to set in earnest, and four large paws crunch the grass in a thicket near the child and dog. Like a predator, the feet are stealthy, crouched, and waiting.

Again, the mother calls for child and dog. Not wanting to go home, the child and dog decide to run deeper into the forest to hide.

The child and dog run twenty feet, thirty feet, fifty feet away, and they come upon a small clearing among the trees. Seeking a hiding spot, the child darts in the direction of a bush, but his dog begins to bark and whine. The dog turns and tries to get the child to follow him, but the child scolds the dog and walks toward the bush. The dog bites and pulls on the clothes of the child, succeeding in dragging him part way back to his mother, but the child hits the dog, and the dog runs off, whining.

The child returns to the small clearing alone, and walks toward the bush.

The four large paws quietly settle deeper into the grass within the thicket, and the predator readies itself for a chase.

The child is 10 feet away from the bush when he finally hears what his dog heard. A quiet crunch, crunch, crunch of feet slowly moving closer to him. Slowly getting louder and faster. The child freezes. He listens. Another loud crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch, and like a rabbit being chased by a fox, the child knows he is prey.

Panicked, the child bolts toward his parents, yelling and screaming and crying.

Behind him, he hears the crunches turn to pounding of the grass as the predator begins his chase.

The child closes his eyes and is running as fast as he can. Fear begins to swallow him—his feet and arms carry him faster than he has ever gone before, but he knows that it will not be enough to out run the thing behind him.

The child feels his body collide with something, and his body is sent to the floor. Yelling and screaming and in tears, he is incoherent with fear and terror.

His father picks him up and scolds him.

"You will never, EVER, run off in the forest again, James, do you hear me? It is dangerous to be out here, alone, especially at night."

Behind his father, James' mother and dog come into view, and James begins to sob.

"Robert, you are being too hard. He was just playing," scolds James' mother.

"Eugenie, being careless in the wilderness in unacceptable behavior, no matter. Grown men who get lost—that's a life or death situation, and he's just a kid. How much more dangerous is it going to be for him?" Robert turns to his kid and hands him off to his mother. "James, you will be punished when we get home. Meanwhile, think about what you did wrong, and be prepared to apologize for running away from your mother."

Eugenie collects her son from her husband. "Robert." Eugenie shakes her head and soothes her son.

"I'm sorry, Eugenie. He has to learn how to respect nature." Robert turns and looks toward the bushes. An unsettled feeling begins to prick at the hairs of his skin, raising them. "He's got to learn how to respect nature, 'cause it has no respect for him." Robert takes a step towards the bushes. "For any of us."

"Robert? Robert! Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, Jeanie. Take James and go back to the car. I think there's something in there."

"Leave it alone, Robert. Let's just go home. Haven't we had enough for one day?" asked Eugenie. In her frustration, her long hair escapes her ponytail, and she blows the dark stray strands away from her face.

"Just go to the car, Jeanie. Everything will be fine. I've got Duke here with me. Come here, Duke," calls Robert to his dog.

Duke walks over to him, his head hanging low and with his tail between his legs.

Jean and James walk off to the car. Robert watches his wife take his child back, and enjoys the neat sashay of her round hips as she walks away from him. _Her hips and her beautiful, beautiful amber eyes,_ he thinks appreciatively. _Six years, and she's still the love of my life._

Duke lets out a low whine and runs a tight circle around his master.

Robert turns back toward the bush and peers into the darkness of its leaves. He doesn't see anything amiss, but he feels as if he is being watched—as if two eyes are following staring at him, following him. And waiting.

A strange challenge hangs heavy in the air. Patient. Inviting. Curious, even. Robert takes a step toward the bush, and hears a crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch from the leaves.

"Is someone there?" Robert asks. "Hello? Hello?"

The crunch of feet on grass grows louder, and Robert walks toward the sound.

Duke whines and does not follow his master.

"Honey?" a voice calls out.

Robert stops ten feet away from the bush and turns. "Jean?"

"Yeah—do you have the keys? I got to the car, but I didn't have the keys on me."

Robert plunges his fists into his jeans pockets, and finds a bunch of keys on a Doctor Who chain. He sighs. "Yeah, Jeanie, I have them."

His wife and son emerge from the forest. Jeanie gives him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, honey, I know you want to stay, but can we please go home? I'm hungry and he's tired."

Robert watches as his wife's smile crinkles the skin around her amber eyes. He feels love suffuse through him, and he walks toward her. "I'm sorry honey. Let's go home. Come on, Duke. Beef soup for supper. What do you say?"

Duke pants and runs after his master, wagging his tail, and seemingly glad to be leaving the forest.

In the distance, their car engine starts, and the receding crackle of wheel on gravel tells the end of just another day in the park.

From the bush, a pair of female feet emerges. A woman stands in the clearing, naked except for the animal pelt slung carelessly around her slight frame. The ochre light of sunset bounces off dark hair and trim round hips, and a pair of amber eyes takes in the scene around her.

A woman that looks like Jeanie, Robert's wife, stands in the clearing wearing nothing but an animal pelt. The woman licks her lips, and then howls a starving, hungry cry. The woman bares her teeth in anger and frustration and returns to the bush.

In the shadows of the fading light of sunset, the two-legged form dissolves, and a four-legged form takes its place. A pair of red eyes blinks from the dark underbrush, the only trace of a frustrated hunter awaiting more prey.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

A nimble, lithe woman with a stack of folders pushes through the door of the records room and enters the main room of the police precinct. She walks through desks and desks of detectives, past the break room where the uniformed police are taking a break and watching a game, and past the parade room with boards covered with investigation material. She comes to a closed door and knocks with brisk efficiency. A muttered, "Come in" floats through the door, and she pushes her way in.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Chang?"

"The latest disappearances, like you said." She places the folders into the in basket on the corner of his desk.

Captain Irving rubs his hand over his face wearily. "Thanks. How many this month?"

"Another two," Chang says, shaking her head.

"And the victims? The MO?"

"Victims are all different, no pattern. But the MO is the same. Just like the others," says Chang.

Irving shakes his head and picks up a folder. "Wives and children, killed in their own home." He opens it and pages through the photos and statements. "And we're sure they're not some sort of animal attack? The coroner says that there's evidence of animal fur on the bodies."

Chang purses her lips and blows in frustration. "It's in the report. No forced entry. No broken windows. No animal on premises when the bodies are found." Chang shudders.

"And the husbands?"

"Missing. Until they're found. But they have no memory of how they got that way." Chang shakes her head sadly. "Devastated when they find out about their loved ones."

"I would be too." Irving shakes his head. "That's 8 people in the last three months." He looks down at the folder in front of him. "Thank you, Chang. Anything else?"

"No sir, " Chang sighs tiredly.

Irving looks up and notes the weariness in the young cop's face. "Look, Chang, we've all been working hard, round the clock on these disappearances. If my memory is correct, I think you've been here 16 hours." Irving closes the file and nods toward the window. "Go home and get some sleep. Night shift will take it from here."

"Thank you, sir," Chang says with a tired sigh.

Chang closes the door a bit, but Irving stops her. "Oh, and Chang?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Send in Crane and Mills, please."

"I haven't seen them yet, sir."

Irving slams the folder shut. "What do you mean you haven't seen them?"

Chang shrugs her shoulders. "I haven't seen them sir, not today. I think Detective Mills called in sick." She pauses. "Anything else?"

Irving stands and shakes his head as he walks to the door. "No, Chang, thank you."

Chang beats a hasty retreat as Irving emerges from his office. He retraces the path that Chang walked, passing the parade room and the row of detectives. Crane and Mills are nowhere to be seen. Annoyance mounting, the captain ducks his head into the break room and finds the uniformed police watching the end of a ball game.

At his entrance, the cops stand a little straighter, and their raucous cacophony of cheering and talking dies down. "I'm looking for Crane and Mills. They in here?" asks Irving.

One of the cops breaks away from the crowd to answer him. "I don't think so. They could be around."

Irving shakes his head. "Chang said something about Mills calling in sick?"

The cop in front of him shifts his eyes furtively and to the right. "Oh, yeah, that's right. I think Abbie called in. Said she couldn't make it and that Crane couldn't drive."

"Yeah, uh huh," Irving looks behind the officer in front of him, sees the tired, worried looks of the men in the room, and relaxes. He'll worry about Crane and Mills later. "Who's playing?"

The officer in front of him breaks into a grin. "Yankees versus 'Stros, bottom of the 9th."

Irving smiled. "Well, Jones, how we doing?"

Officer Jones turns toward the TV and points. "One down. Tying run on 2nd, and Ellerby's up at bat."

Irving smiles and nods his head toward the screen. "Well, I suppose we should go root for the home team.

Irving and Jones move toward the screen. Ellerby is at the plate. His first swing is at a hard curve ball and is a strike. The next pitch is a breaking ball that just nips the strike zone. Ellerby digs his heals in and readies.

The third pitch is a fastball straight down the middle, and Ellerby connects. The runner at second goes for third and gets the go ahead to go home. Ellerby rounds first and heads for second. The Astros outfielders go back and back and back, but the ball is over the wall, and everyone in the room cheers, except Irving.

"Good hit." Irving smiles and takes his leave of the cop. "I'm gonna go find Crane and Mills. See you, Jones."

Irving is almost at the door when a gasp turns him around. Irving sees the men gaping at the screen, but Jones, smothering a grin, stretches his arms out, and tries to get Irving out the door.

Irving resists and looks at the TV.

On the tiny screen is Ichabod Crane holding the home run ball, and his detective, Abigail Mills, is staring up at him with a look of surprise on her face.

In disbelief and exasperation, Captain Irving purses his lips and puts his hands on his hips. "Looks like I found Crane and Mills."

* * *

A few hours before, Abbie sings during the 7th inning stretch. Ichabod listens happily to his fellow Witness and to the chorus of people singing in the stands.

"I must say, Lieutenant, though I am not sure what Cracker Jack may be, I confess that I found that quite pleasant," remarks Ichabod. "Nothing like a bit of a hymn to pull together a congregation."

"Not a hymn, Crane. We're not in church," Abbie replies.

"A chant then. A tune to put us into the right state of mind."

"And what mind is that, Crane?"

"A spirit of camaraderie, I suppose? So that we all may root for our home team, as it were?"

"I suppose." Abbie smiles. "Woo! Go Yankees!" she cries as the players return to the field.

Ichabod smiles at her cheerful hurrah. "Ms. Mills, permit me to ask—I wonder why do you not sing more often? You have a wonderful singing voice."

"Well, thank you, Crane. Don't really get much of a chance to sing, I suppose. Not in our line of work, right?"

Ichabod tutted quietly. "It is a shame that something of such beauty cannot be readily enjoyed," grouched Ichabod lightly.

Unused to the straightforwardness of his compliment, Abbie looks at Crane with unabashed surprise.

Crane, at her look, becomes flustered. Realizing what he said, he begins to babble and wave his gloved hand in frustration.

"And it's a type of candy. No, more a snack," Abbie explains.

At the same time, Crane declares, "I cannot in good conscience wear this glove."

"I'm sorry?" asks Abbie.

"What is?" asks Ichabod.

They smile at their awkwardness. Crane makes a gentlemanly bow toward Abbie, and she smiles and waves away the formality.

"Cracker Jack. Caramel covered popcorn that comes in a box, only it's got a surprise inside. A toy, for the kids."

"I see. A combination of sweets and playthings. Aimed at children, no doubt?"

"And those who are young at heart," agrees Abbie. "And why don't you want to wear the glove?"

Crane holds the glove to his face, and snaps it open and close. "I find it somewhat cumbersome. It restricts the freedom of movement of my fingers and my hand." He holds the glove to her and tests its motions. "Whatever is it for?"

"Catching balls—foul balls, homeruns.

"And those are those balls that make it over this wall, I take it?"

"Yes. When the ball comes into the stands, fans try to catch the ball. But because we're so far, and the ball has to be hit so hard to make it out here, we've gotta use a glove to catch it. And that's why you're wearing one."

"But from what I've seen, a foul ball or homerun is quite the rare occurrence."

"It is. I've never caught one, and I've always wanted to. So that's why you gotta be prepared."

A crack of bat against ball draws their eyes toward the field. The hitter hits the ball deep into left field, and Abbie and Ichabod ready themselves. Up and up into the blue sky, the ball soars. Their eyes follow the ball to the apex of its arc.

"Do you see it?" asks Abby? "Do you see it?

"What the Devil!" Ichabod exclaims.

A loud thunk, thunk-thunk comes from the wall in front of them, and the ball bounces harmlessly back into left field. The Yankee outfielder scoops up the ball and throws it, hard and fast, to second base. The baseman and the runner collide, and the baseman gets the out.

Three outs, and the teams change sides.

"See, Crane?" Abbie bites her lip and waggles her eyebrows. "Always be prepared, because you never know what's gonna happen," she counsels as she breaks into a broad grin.

Ichabod says nothing, punches the glove twice to soften it, and returns her smile.

* * *

It is the bottom of the 9th, the tying run is on second, and a handsome, darkly tan young man approaches the plate.

"A tall drink of water he is," Abbie mutters.

"Pardon?" a distracted Crane asks. His focus and intent is completely on the ball and the hitter.

"Nothing. Okay. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, tying run on second. Who have we got?"

"A gentleman by the name of Ellerby, I believe," says Crane. He gesticulates off-handedly toward the JumboTron on the far side of the field.

"Well all right then. COME ON ELLERBY!" yells Abby.

Two strikes come and go. Then a fastball comes down the middle. A loud _crack_ of wood and leather sends the ball flying deep into left field once more.

"Um, Crane?"

"I have it."

"Crane?"

"I have it!"

The runner at second makes the tying run, and Ellerby, with a quick glance at the ball's trajectory, heads for home plate.

"_CRANE! OH MY GOSH!" _yells Abbie.

"I've got you!" Crane yells.

Abbie ducks and throws her hands over her head to deflect the ball falling speedily straight toward her. She closes her eyes and waits for the inevitable crush of people diving for the ball.

On instinct, Crane gathers Abby to him, throws himself protectively over her, and reaches a long, gangly arm out to protect them. A mob of people swarm to them, toward the ball, but above them all towers Crane's hand. And Crane's glove.

Abbie hears a thunk somewhere above her, and she knows it's safe now to open her eyes and peek out from underneath her human shield. Crane also opens his eyes, pulls down his hand—

And sees the ball resting snugly in his glove.

"Oh my gosh, Crane, you did it!" exclaims Abbie.

"I did it," says Crane in wonder. He blinks twice and looks at Abbie, who hugs him happily. The feel of her arms around him brings him back to himself. He throws one hand around Abbie and raises the other hand, with the glove and the ball, into the air. "We did it!"

The crowd around them is cheering—for the homerun and the game. And though the JumboTron has since moved from Crane and Abbie to the celebration on the field, Abbie and Crane look at one another and find the world has narrowed to the space between them.

Abbie smiles a brilliant, happy, carefree smile at Crane.

Somewhere within his ribcage, he experiences a glorious, exciting twist of feeling. Though surprising, at first, at the beginning of his brief partnership with the police lieutenant, the feeling is no longer unexpected, nor is it entirely unwelcome.

"You did it, Crane," Abby says with a sort of tender pride.

"We did it, Ms. Mills," replies Crane. Happy to share the moment with her, he unthinkingly brings his gloved hand down and holds her in an awkward, distant embrace. Remembering himself, he releases Abby, retrieves the ball from his gloved hand, and offers it to her. "For you, Ms. Mills."

Abby smiles. "Nuh uh. You caught it fair and square so it's yours. But like you said earlier, in the spirit of camaraderie, I will take this and do you a big favor." Abby tosses the ball into the air and catches it. "Come on. We gotta do this before they go back inside the locker room."

Crane watches as Abbie turns and walks away, becoming drop in the ocean of people attempting to exit en masse the stadium. Crane lifts an eyebrow in surprise and amusement. "Ms. Mills? Where are we going?"

Abby turns her head and looks over her shoulder at Crane. Again, somewhere in his ribcage, a dagger of passionate feeling pierces him. Her summons is part challenge, part invitation, and Crane finds himself unable to resist the allure of her mysterious request. Gathering his glove and his omnipresent coat, Crane smiles and follows her.


	3. Chapter Two

A brisk sprint through the stands, a right, a left, down two flights of stairs, and Crane and Mills are running over the grass of the outfield toward the dugouts.

A sprinkling of families and reporters dots in the infield, and Crane and Mills weave their way through the crowd. Both the players and the guests are ecstatic, and the sound of happy chatter fills their ears.

Abbie bobs and weaves, her head darting back and forth between the empty spaces in the crowd, until she finds the object of her search. She turns, gives Crane a smile, and gestures for him to follow her.

Abby and Crane come to a clearing in the sea of people, and they see the homerun hitter, Ellerby, giving an interview to the press.

Abby rakes her gaze over Ellerby's strong, fit figure, and smiles appreciatively. She tosses up the game-winning ball, and catches it.

Crane catches up with her. "Ms. Mills? I wonder what is the objective of our reconnaissance of the playing field this afternoon?"

Abby nods toward the player. "A game-winning ball signed by the game-winning hitter." She turns to Crane. "When we get you a computer, and you learn about eBay, you will thank me later."

"Indeed," Crane responds.

Abby waits as Ellerby wraps up his interview with the reporter. He gives the reporter a quick handshake and a bright flash of toothy smile. Ellerby then gestures for the families to line up for autographs.

Crane and Abby quickly fall into line, and in front of them, families with children chat excitedly. Abby and Crane make their way to Ellerby and hand him the ball. "Hi, could you please

"This mine?" Ellerby turns the ball over in his hands and tosses it in the air. He looks at Abby appreciatively.

Abby feels a crackle of electricity pass from Ellerby to herself, and she hides her smile. "You could say that. But you'll need to talk to this guy here. He's the one that caught it."

Crane steps forward and proffers his hand. "Ichabod Crane."

Ellerby looks at Crane with interest and sizes him up. "Jacob Ellerby. Nice to meet you."

"And I am pleased to meet you, sir. That was quite a hit you gave a few moments ago. What a thrill is must have been," compliments Crane.

"Well, was just lucky," Ellerby demurs.

"I'm sure not. While I have no experience in playing baseball, there was a game I have played, base, which involves similar running and tagging. The best and most athletic of us were quite good at it, but truly the best players were those that demonstrated dedication in their practice of it." Ichabod looks at Abby and nods his head. "It is quite similar to the game of cricket in that respect."

"Cricket, eh? You from England?" Ellerby asks.

Ichabod opens his mouth to reply, but Abby cuts him off. "Yes, he's just arrived. Thought I'd take him to a baseball game."

"Well I'm glad you got to see the game then." Ellerby looks at Abby and Crane with interest and tilts his head. "Well, then whom shall I make this out to? Mr. and Mrs. . . .?"

"Just—Ichabod Crane. I'm Abby. We're partners—work partners, that's all," explains Abby. "Sleepy hollow PD."

"I know the place—my family's got a farm there." Ellerby gives a broad grin. "Great. To Ichabod . . . " he signs the baseball with a flourish. He gives the ball one more toss and hands it to Ichabod. "Well, there you go, Mr. Crane. One autographed game-winning ball."

"I give you my most hearty thanks," Ichabod says appreciatively. He reaches out and shakes Ellerby's hand.

Abby too reaches out and shakes his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Ellerby. We appreciate the gesture. Great game."

"Nice to meet you, Abby?"

"Mills, Abby Mills. " Abby and Crane turn to go.

"Wait a sec." Jacob turns and whistles at a ball boy. "Mark, throw one over this way, will you please?" Jacob nods and catches a ball with his bare hands, and turns back to Abby and Crane. "Can't let one of New York's finest go home empty handed . . ." Ellerby signs the ball and hands it to Abby with a wink. "There you go."

Abby looks at the ball with amused disbelief. "And this is . . ."

"My number. Give me a call sometime. If you ever got the hankering to see some sheep, my grandmother's farm near Westchester's the place to go."

Abby gives a small laugh, and Ichabod looks on, his eyebrows raised in mortification. "I'll keep it in mind, Mr. Ellerby."

"Jacob. And it was nice to meet you, Abby." Jacob smiles and waves at both of them. "Nice to meet you both!"

Abby and Ichabod walk away from the crowd, each holding their ball. Though Abby is staring with amused disbelief at the digits inscribed on her ball, Ichabod merely pockets his and whispers to Abby with alarm. "That man, did he just—"

"Yup," replies Abby.

"And did you just—"

"Yup." Abby smiles and tucks the baseball under her arm.

"And all of this . . . is accepted now as courtship?" he sputters.

"It's one date, Crane, maybe. We'll see," says Abby. Abby's phone rings. "Mills."

"Detective. How's that sick day going?" asks Captain Irving over the telephone.

Abby cringes. "Oh, you know. Tissue, chicken soup. Magazines. What can I do for you, Captain?"

Ichabod's face contorts into an expression of supreme surprise, but Abby holds a finger to her lips, asking for his silence.

"Well, if you were sick, I could ask you to read me my horoscope from one of those magazines. But since we both know you're not, why don't you try telling me what my best detective and her British consultant are doing catching home run balls at a Yankees game in the middle of a work day?"

_Damn. "_You want us in, sir?"

"As soon as you can, please. We've got another murder on our hands, and I think that this one has your name on it."

"Well be in right away," Abby agrees. She hangs up the phone.

"That was the Captain, then?" asks Ichabod.

"Yup. We got a case, Crane," she says. "Come on."

As she begins to walk down the field in earnest, Crane sees a subtle shift in her persona. The square of her jaw, the hardness of her stride, and the learned vigilance of a person accustomed to being in harm's way come upon her countenance. In a second, she has gone from being a courted woman to an officer of the law, and the transformation is startling.

Crane stops walking and stares at her.

Abby notices that Ichabod is no longer walking with her and turns. "Crane. You coming?"

Ichabod knows that Abby is his fellow Witness, that they are bound together by fate and choice to prevent the end of days. In their fight against the darkness, he has admired and knows intimately her strength, her determination, her resolve, and her willingness to sacrifice her happiness for good of the entire world. But today, after a day in the sunshine, a day of laughter and camaraderie and friendship, he can't help but feel poorer for not knowing this other side of her too.

Ichabod feels the contour of their baseball in through the material of his coat. "In a moment."

Detective Mills breaks character, and graces him with an Abby smile. "Sure, whenever you're ready, Crane."

As he watches her walk away, he works hard to convince himself that what he has of her, what she is willing to share, is enough.


	4. Chapter Three

The thirty-minute drive from Yankee stadium to Sleepy Hollow takes twice as long as it should in the rush hour traffic. Abbie blows air from her mouth in frustration, and makes liberal use of her horn.

"What I _should_ do is put on the cherries and lights. That'll move 'em," mutters Abbie.

Crane snorts. "A galloping horse would convey us to the station with more speed than this halting parade of mechanical snails," he agrees under his breath.

An hour passes, and Crane and Mills find themselves finally back at the station.

A quick sprint from the door and through the hallway brings them to the bullpen, where uniformed police and detectives alike give them applause and whistles.

"Nice catch, Crane!" yells someone from the back.

"Do you have the ball?"

"Can we see it?"

Crane flushes with embarrassment and pleasure and gives a small wave of his hand to acknowledge the comments.

Abbie waves a hand in front of her. "Okay, okay, knock it off guys. If you want to see it, you can find it on eBay later."

To their right, a short man with blond hair whistles. "Wow, Mills. Well, when you guys sell it for the big bucks, try to remember us little guys, will ya?"

"Very funny, Johnson," replies Abbie with a smile.

In the far right back part of the bullpen, a door bangs open, and Captain Irving leans his head out of his office. "Crane. Mills. My office. Now." Irving ducks back into his office and shuts the door.

Abbie cringes.

Johnson nods his head toward Irving's door. "Chang in records found some more of those cases today. Makes 8 in the last three months. Cap'n thinks the cases are related, wants to assign them all to one detective."

"And I'm here because?" asks Abbie.

Johnson shrugs. "Guess it's your lucky day."

Abbie blinks. "Guess so."

Johnson smirks. "Good luck, detective."

"Thanks, Johnson, I'll need it." Abbie turns to look at Crane. "You ready?"

With a smart nod, Crane agrees, and together, they head toward Irving's office.

Crane reaches the door to Irving's office first, and pulls open the door for Abbie. Abbie enters Irving's office, and Crane follows suit, closing the door behind them.

Irving is standing behind his desk. With one hand on his hip, and another pointing at a tall stack of folders on his desk, Irving greets the wayward pair. "Congratulations. These now belong to you, Lieutenant."

Abbie widens her eyes. "And what are those, sir?"

"Cases. Cold cases. New cases. No pattern to the victim, different MO, but in each of them, a woman or a child is murdered, and the husband father is missing, only to turn up a few days later with no idea of what's going on."

"The Ferguson case," Abbie says. She nods her head coolly. "I thought Johnson and Marks had that one?"

"They did. Until Chang pulled up files from records and showed that this has been going on for at least three months. She's pulling more files tomorrow."

"Then, with all due respect, sir, I don't see why Crane and I are being given these cases."

Irving opens a file and reads the notes aloud. "No sign of forced entry, nothing stolen. Bite marks apparent on victim's neck, arms." Irving closes the file and opens the next in the stack. "Victims appeared eaten—chunks of flesh were taken from his body. Doors to the house found locked, windows closed." Irving shuts the folder shut and reads aloud from one more case file. "And this last one is from a case that Chang pulled up today. 'Animal fur found around victim's body, but bite marks appear human.'"

Abbie blanched. "Human?"

Crane's eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "_Human!"_

"Yes. Now I don't know about you, but a flesh eating animal with human teeth sounds a little outside the expertise of anyone but you and Captain Revolutionary America over there." Irving gestures to the files. "Tomorrow, I want you and Crane all over those case notes, and when you're done, I want you to interview the victim of the latest incident."

"Interview?" asks Abbie.

"Interview, Lieutenant. Thirty minutes ago, there was another attack, and the latest victim is being held now Phelps Memorial. She's in critical condition now, so we're hoping she makes it till tomorrow so she can tell us who the attacker is." Irving restacks the folders and hands them to Abby. "From now on, I want no more attacks if we can help it.

"Understood, sir." Abbie picks up the files and heads toward the door. Crane pivoted on his heel and made ready to follow her.

"Oh, and Crane?" Irving calls out.

"Yes, Captain?" Ichabod turns around to face Captain Irving.

"That was a helluva catch."

Irving grins, and Abbie smirks.

"It was, wasn't it?" says Abbie.

"Thank you, Captain," was Ichabod's reply.

Frank nods, and a sliver of his mouth has turned upward in the barest hint of a smile. "See you tomorrow, you two."

"Bright and early, Captain," Abbie agrees. She lifts the folders in her arms and lumbers out of the office.

Crane moves immediately to her and takes the folders from her grasp. "Is all well, Lieutenant?"

Abbie nods her head. "Sure. Tomorrow, we start on those," Abbie says as she points to the folders in Ichabod's hands. "Interview witnesses, go over case notes. Full day of ahead tomorrow."

Abbie and Crane stop by her desk, and Crane places the folders in a neat stack upon it.

Ichabod shakes his head. "Animal fur and human bite marks," he wonders aloud.

"Tomorrow. But for now, it's late—come on, and I'll take you home," says Abbie.

* * *

Abbie pulls up to Corbin's cabin—Crane's cabin and turns off the car ignition. "Here we are. Home sweet home. Well, for you, anyway."

"Yes, well, thank you again, Lieutenant, for the use of the cabin. It is a relief to be out of that . . . motel and to be amongst the woods."

"Yeah, well, I know it's away from the precinct, but it's a nice spot. I can see now why Corbin wanted it," Abbie admits. The memory of her mentor's death is still fresh, but time has blunted the pain of it. "In the city, you still feel like you're a part of everything, but out here, it's like it's just you and the trees. Peaceful."

"If Corbin knew what he was fighting, what we're fighting, a secluded haven seems a wise choice," Crane agrees. "I feel I would have liked this man, Corbin."

Abbie smiles. "I think you would have, Crane. And I think he would have liked you," said Abbie.

Abbie watches as a rare, shy smile works its way from Crane's mouth to his eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He clears his throat and looks away, embarrassed. "I mean, thank you for today. The base-ball game. I enjoyed our trip quite thoroughly."

"Anytime, Crane," Abbie replies. "I enjoyed spending the day with you too."

Abbie sees a look of hope flit across Crane's face, and she is surprised at the expression. Crane turns and looks at the empty cabin in front of them. The lights are off, and the shadows in the building are still. Though it is peaceful, the haven in the woods is lonely.

Crane turns back toward her, and a request forms on his lips. "Ms. Mills, if I may prey upon your good nature briefly, I wonder if you would allow me to invite you to stay for a few moments at my cabin?" He holds a hand up to forestall premature argument. "Though I realize that an invitation for an unmarried woman to spend time with a man alone in his home would be most inappropriate, I feel I can in good conscience offer the hospitality of my porch."

Abbie smiles and holds back a surprised laugh. "The hospitality of your porch?" she asks with a pleased curiosity.

Crane's request turns to hopeful grin, and he nods slightly. "Indeed. I'm sure I have many a tale whose telling would be improved by fresh air and starlight."

As surprised as she is by Crane's request, she is equally surprised by her desire to accept his invitation. Though they have not been partners for long, their time together has led increasingly to moments like these—moments when respect and camaraderie blend together into something like friendship and a genuine desire for the other's company.

For a long time, Abbie has held herself apart from others. First at school, then during academy, Abbie has sought single-mindedly to improve herself, to move forward in her career, and to make the best life possible for a girl who bounced around from foster home to foster home as a child. Without parents, without close friends, and with a sister who was lost to her, Abbie got very good at being alone. But looking at Crane's hopeful smile, and thinking about their day at the game, for once, the invitation to partake of another's company is tempting.

"We spent the whole day together, Crane, and you're not tired of me yet?" Abbie asks, half-teasing and half-serious.

"Indeed, not. Rather, I would enjoy the opportunity to spend a few more minutes in your presence—an opportunity I would use to properly thank you for the pleasure of your company today," Crane responds.

Abbie smiles at the earnest nature of Crane's compliment. She smiles, and unlocks the doors to the SUV. "Well, when you put it like that—"

Crane, excited, flings open the door and leaps from the car. He turns and closes the door, and perches his fingers on the window frame.

With his sudden movement, an object around his throat leaves its bindings and hangs loosely over his shirt. The shiny metal and jewel pendant glints softly in the dim light of dusk. It is delicate and feminine and too small to adorn properly the neck of a man in his prime.

_A woman's necklace._ Abbie observes. _Katrina's necklace?_

Abbie inhales sharply and relocks the automatic locks on her SUV.

Crane looks at the door's lock mechanism with surprise, and then turns his confused gaze toward Abbie. "Ms. Mills?"

"I'm sorry Crane, I just realized how tired I am. Maybe next time?" Abbie asks.

Crane's hopeful expression falls and is replaced by restrained disappointment. "At your pleasure, Ms. Mills." He releases the door.

"Thanks." Abbie nods. "Well, big day tomorrow. Get some rest Crane."

"I wish you a restful repose, Lieutenant," agrees Crane. "Farewell."

"See you," Abbie replies. She watches as Crane walks to the porch of the cabin. He turns and waits. Abbie turns on the ignition, shifts the gear, and pulls slowly away from the cabin.

As she leaves his home, she looks in the rearview mirror and sees Crane still waiting on the porch. He is still there when, with a turn, the cabin disappears from her view.


	5. Chapter Four

**Rating: **The story took a turn toward M. Whoops. It will again in a few (3 or 4) chapters. But I think that should be it for M rated content.

**Author's notes: ** Also, thank you very much for the follows and reviews!

* * *

During the drive back to her apartment from Crane's cabin, Abbie's skin tingles. Her chest, neck, and wrists crackle with sensitivity, and the sensation of her clothes gliding against her skin makes her itch with uneasiness.

She knows that she and Crane are becoming friends, and she knows that their bond as fellow Witnesses is what will sustain them during their seven year fight against the forces of darkness. But she did not expect _this—_this . . . whatever the hell this thing is.

Abbie slams her fist against the steering wheel—she is too tired and too alone, and this is making her vulnerable, making her think she has feelings for a married two hundred year old man.

She will fix this.

Abbie drives home and enters her apartment. She throws her keys on the kitchen counter and heads straight for her bedroom. She turns on the light in her room, and then her walk-in closet. With a single-minded determination, she strips off her shoes, her jacket, shirt, and pants, and for a minute, stands in front of the full-length mirror.

Abbie examines herself—she is short, but fit. Strong. Muscled, but with pleasing proportions. Abbie tiptoes, stretches her hands above her head, and feels the pull and extension of the act in her shoulders, back, and legs. She turns around and watches her hair swirl and fall lightly back on her shoulders.

Stripped of her gun, her badge, and her jacket, she is no longer a detective or a cop or even a partner. It is naked in her closet, alone, that Abbie reminds herself what it is to be just Abbie_._

From the pile of clothes on the floor, she pulls out her cell phone and the baseball from earlier. She types the number from the ball into her phone, and with a decisive _click!, _she begins her call.

"Jacob," comes the matter of fact response.

"Hi Mr. Ellerby? Jacob? This is Abbie. Abbie Mills? You may not remember me—we met earlier today at the ball park."

"One of Sleepy Hollow's finest, right?" Jacob replies. Abbie can hear a smile in his voice, and the butterflies in her stomach quiet with the realization.

"That's me. Anyway, I thought I'd take you up your offer. Come by and see the farm, if you're not too busy."

"For you, Officer Mills? Never. But it is a good thing that you caught me during an at home week," admits Jacob with a laugh. "What's your weekend look like?"

Abbie strokes the back of her tired neck. The last three months at work have taken their toll. She'd need Saturday to get ready—a trip to the salon for her hair, maybe a massage? "Sunday's looking pretty good right now."

"Why don't we meet, then, Sunday afternoon? 2pm? I'll text you the directions, and make sure to bring an empty stomach."

Abbie holds back a chuckle. "2pm Sunday. Empty stomach. Got it. Anything else?"

"No. Well, yes—I suggest wearing clothes you don't mind getting dirty."

Surprised, Abbie laughs, and a broad grin breaks across her face. "That sounds like a come on—" Abbie hears Jacob laugh, "But I know that it's not. 2pm Sunday. Empty stomach. Relaxed clothes."

"You're right, it wasn't a come on, but don't worry—you'll be on the receiving end of compliments and flattery soon enough. I promise."

Abbie feels a flush of embarrassed attraction rush through her. _Ooh, the game is On!_

Jacob's end of the phone fuzzes in and out, and a muffled voice speaks. "Sorry—gotta go. Something about wanting to party with the game winning hitter or something like that."

"Really? I wonder who they're talking about?" Abbie teases.

Jacob barks a laugh. "You're a hard woman to impress, Abbie Mills."

"Just to the men who are trying to impress me," she responds. The tingles she felt earlier have retuned, and this time, she welcomes them.

"And I'm sure I'm just one of the many," Jacob says, and the friendliness of his smooth tenor voice has dropped a tone toward intimate. "See you Sunday."

"Bye," Abbie says, a little more breathlessly than she'd like.

She hangs up the clothes on the floor and pulls on a tank top and pajama pants. Walking to the kitchen, she places her phone next to her keys and makes sure the doors are locked.

A few minutes later, in her sleep, she dreams of her day—of baseballs and diamonds, of jewels in a necklace, of friends and their wives, and of an animal, its mouth filled with blood and two red eyes that pierce the dark.

* * *

It is night, and the creature is hungry.

Its feet pad quietly on grass. _Crunch crunch crunch crunch. _

It is looking for another. Its hunger is growing. It gnaws and bites from the inside, forcing the creature to keep looking. It must feed and soon.

A low growl—the pain rips and tears its insides. It can no longer wait in the woods—it must go closer. Towards the lights and noise that frighten and confuse. Towards its prey.

* * *

A man walks out of a bar and into a graveled parking lot. Behind him trail a group of four other men, three of whom walk with varying degrees of difficulty.

"Hey, Fernando, where are you going?" yells one of the four men. The slur of his speech is heavy, and he walks with the assistance of two other men who half-carry, half-drag him.

"Home, Petey. Told Maria I'd be home by 10," Fernando replies with a laugh. He walks backwards away from the group and pulls out his cell phone. "Listen, man, I gotta go. I promised her I'd call when I leave."

"Get a load of him. Newlyweds. Sheesh," laughs Petey.

"She worries, man," Fernando says with a smile. "Listen, guys, take him home, 'cause he is gone."

"He's heavy is what he is," grumbles one of the men carrying him.

"Pete, man, you should lay off the beer. Goes straight to your gut," laughs the other man carrying him.

"I'm fine—like I was in college," argues Petey.

The designated driver of the four men waves. "See you tomorrow, Fernando."

"See you, Maurice," says Fernando. He stands outside of the bar and clicks on his phone. "Hey, Mami. I'm coming home now. Get ready, babe, porque tengo hambre de ti. See you soon, baby." He clicks off the phone.

From the flashing neon sign of Victor's pub, Fernando walks to the back of the parking lot, near the stand of trees that marks the edge of the forest. He comes here, to this out of the way place, at the end of shift because it's halfway between his job in Thornville and his home in Hawthorne, where his wife of a month waits for him.

His wife—the phrase still excites him. Maria had been his crush in high school, but they hadn't gotten together till later, not till after Maria had gone away to school and come back to Hawthorne with a degree in business and a longing to be home. He had spent the four years she was away regretting not telling her how he felt, and the night she came back, he had asked her out on the spot. Two years, they married.

He walks to his car, excited to go home and aching to be with his wife.

He reaches his car and pulls his key to open the lock when something in the thicket in the distance moves.

He almost misses it, but after he opens the door to his car, the something in the thicket moves again, and more quickly. Fernando turns his head toward the sound.

The evening is at its full, and the light from the neon bar sign is dim here at the back of the parking lot. Fernando cannot see much beyond his car, but a strange sensation comes over him. Something challenging, inviting, hangs heavy in the air. Fernando takes a step toward the thicket, and hears a crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch from the trees.

"Is anyone there? Hello?" he asks.

A short, plump woman with dark, flowing hair emerges from the trees. It is dark, but Fernando sees shadows dance across the person's shape, and thighs, hips, breasts emerge from the dark. She is beautiful, ripe, and sexy.

"Maria," he breathes. He runs toward her.

The woman turns and runs back into the forest. Fernando chases her.

The tree limbs and leaves whip his face and arms as he runs toward his wife. "Maria? Maria! Where are you going?"

A few feet more, and Fernando stands in a clearing. The dim light of the waxing gibbous moon filters through the trees; it is not bright, but the vague shapes of things around him are visible.

Fernando scans the clearing for any sign of his wife. "Maria? Maria?"

He feels a hand on his back, and he whips around to defend himself. He turns and sees Maria, standing next to him. She is naked, save for an animal pelt draped around her smooth sloping shoulders.

Though his mind is filled with confusion, his body shudders with arousal. "Maria? What are you doing here? Why are you naked?"

"I need you," Maria whispers. "Fernando Juarez. Give yourself to me. Give in to your desire."

"Here? In the forest? Maria, what's going on?" he gathers his wife to him and kisses her.

"I need you, Fernando," Maria whispers again. She opens her mouth to his kisses. Their tongues duel, and with a swift flash of teeth, she bites his lip.

Fernando groans low in his chest, and a deep, aching need builds. Reason, thought, questions flee his mind, and he loses himself in the soft, naked embrace of his beloved.

"Ay, Mami. Please."

"Now, Fernando. Give yourself to me now. Here. I need you." Maria reaches down and undoes the button of his pants.

Lust clouds his better judgment, and he fills his hands with the ripe fruit of her body. She responds, and the friction of her movements against his body is too much. He strips down—throws open his shirt and frees himself from his pants. Together, Maria and Fernando tumble onto the grass of the clearing, and in a few moments, they are coupled, moving together in passion and desire until, with a grunt, Fernando reaches his climax.

A few minutes pass, and Fernando is lying on his back, recovering.

"We are as one now, Fernando," Maria says.

"We are, Maria. You and me, together. Always, like I promised," he says. He takes her hand and gently kisses it. "I love you, baby."

A moment of silence passes, and Fernando furrows his brow. "I said I love you, baby. Maria?"

Another moment of silence passes. Fernando sits up and looks at his wife. "Baby? You okay?"

Maria sits up and gives Fernando an intense stare. She reaches out a hand to stroke his cheek. "We are as one now, Fernando. You are mine now."

Fernando opens his mouth to reply, but a painful tremor passes through him. His arms and legs lock, throwing him back on his back onto the grass. His body begins to shake, hard, and his eyes roll back in his head.

Maria watches Fernando convulse and then pass out. She leans down and pauses.

A slowly moving cloud obscures the moon above, and the light in the clearing dims to darkness. As the shadows shift with the changing darkness, Maria touches her lips to his neck. With a swift flash of glistening teeth, she growls low and deep and bites him.


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the follows! Also, the characters don't belong to me, they belong to the fabulous, fantastic Sleepy Hollow! (PS. Also some swearsies in this chapter.)

* * *

The next day, Abbie finds Crane already at the police station. After an hour of going through the cases, Abbie leans back in her chair and groans in frustration.

"Eight victims. Four women, one man, three children," recites Abby. She flips through the files on her desk.

"Indeed. All citizens of Sleepy Hollow or the nearby city of Tarrytown." Crane drummed his fingers on the desk. "Did you know that Sleepy Hollow once was called North Tarrytown?"

"Everybody knows that Crane," muttered Abby as she read through the case files. "Wait. How did you know that?"

"I took advantage of my early morning to read the case files and do research or your . . . ninnanet." A smile crept onto his face. "I found your eBay, Lieutenant, and indeed, I believe I will find it most useful in finding our game winning ball from yesterday a home."

Abbie chuckled. "Well, make sure you get the money first before you send the ball."

"Indeed." Crane gestured to the files. "The families, from what I read, bore no relation to one another, nor did they have much in common other than their physical proximity to the area."

"That's what it looks, like," replies Abbie. "Different churches. Or no church. Different schools. Different jobs. Different ages, heights, build, race, ethnicity."

"Then the question must still be how do eight families with nothing in common all have family members who suffer such grim fates." Crane glances at the photos of death and dismemberment and turns away.

Abbie pulls together the files and gathers her keys. "Then that's our job this morning, Crane. We talk to the families. We find something that they have in common. Something not on the surface, something we've missed."

"Where do we start?" asks Crane as he prepares to leave.

"At the beginning." Abbie pulls out a case file and brings it to the top of the pile.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Abbie and Crane pull up to a small one-story house with white paint and green window shutters.

"Our first victim. Three months ago, Jennifer Peterson was murdered. Her husband, Steve Peterson, lives here with their son, Gabriel." Abbie places the files into her go bag in the back seat. "We go in, we ask them what they remember about Jennifer, and the night she was murdered."

Crane and Mills walk to the front door and ring the doorbell. A man with short, dark brown hair of medium height and a husky build answers the door.

"Steve Peterson? Sleepy Hollow PD. I'm Abbie Mills; this is my partner, Ichabod Crane. We're looking into the case of your wife, Jennifer Peterson."

"Oh, god, have they found the guy who did it?" Steve's hand on the doorknob tightens, and he flushes a deep red from his chest to his hairline.

"No, sir. But we're following up on a possible lead, and we'd like to ask you some more questions about her case. May we please come in?"

Steve nods. "Yes please, come in."

He brings them into the living room and offers them the seat of his couch. He sits down next to them, in the matching love seat. "Anything you need, officers. I want to help."

Abbie nods at Crane, and he begins. "Please, sir, if you can, can you tell what you remember of your wife's . . . incident."

Steve looks down, as if fighting to restrain his emotions. Abbie leans forward and pitches her voice to intimate encouragement. "I know this is hard. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you. But anything you can tell us will help."

"I'm sorry. It's been three months, but I still—" He takes a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, officers, but I . . . don't remember anything about the day that she . . . that day. I told the detectives. I went out for groceries. I came back, an hour later, and she was . . . she was gone."

"Did she say anything? Was she worried about anything before you left?" asks Crane.

Steve shakes his head. "No, nothing. In fact, she teased me about remembering to get fish—I hate it, but she loves it, and she always wants to have it for dinner." He paused. "Wanted to have it for dinner."

"And nothing was going on at work? Nothing in your community? She didn't have any enemies?"

"Not a soul. Jennifer was smart. Efficient. Did her job well, and had enough time left over to do stuff for our church." Steve shakes his head. "Everybody loved her."

Abbie looks at him carefully. "We think, sir, that your wife's death may be connected to other deaths in Sleepy Hollow. Do you know of any organizations or groups that your wife might have been a part of other than the ones listed in her earlier report? Your church, her work, your friends?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. Sometimes she volunteers at the shelter. Sometimes she'd go for hikes with her girlfriends. Nothing organized, though, just sometimes. Sometimes we'd go together. In fact, we had just come back from a hike that day, before I went to the grocery store." He takes a shaky breath and looks at Abbie with a piercing gaze. "You mean that the sick bastard who killed my wife is doing the same thing to other people?"

Crane recoils in surprise at his anger, but Abbie holds her ground. "Thank you for the information you gave us today, Steve. I hope it will help us in our investigation." She stands and gets ready to leave.

"Thank you, Officer, for working on my wife's case. It's nice to know that someone still cares about what happened to her." He brings them to the door. "If there's anything else that I can do to help bring that sick bastard to justice." He shakes his head in disgust.

"We'll call you if we need anything else. Thank you, Mr. Peterson," says Abbie. She turns, collects Crane, and heads for the SUV.

Behind them, they hear the door to the house click shut, and they get into the car. Abbie turns the key in the ignition and puts the car into gear. "One down, seven to go."

Crane nods and looks out of the window thoughtfully.

* * *

Though Abbie and Crane go to six more homes, still they find no commonality between the victims.

They return to their car from the home of the seventh victim, and Abbie retrieves the files from her go bag. "Okay. Jennifer Peterson went hiking and volunteered at the shelter. Rochelle Frank ran a professional women's networking group. Qiaoling Yu taught ballet. Tia Orozco sang in a church choir. "

"Four women, very different interests," observes Crane.

"And three children, different schools, different clubs." Abbie flips through the files. "We have one last victim, Pat Sage. Still at Phelps Memorial, ICU."

Abbie pulls out her cell phone and checks it.

"Pardon me. A pressing social engagement, Lieutenant?" asks Ichabod with some surprise.

Abbie shakes her head. "Checking on the status of our latest victim. Captain said he would text when he was awake." Abbie scrolls through her messages. "Got it. Room 1123 at Phelps." Abbie turns the key in the ignition and throws the car into gear. "We're going to go talk to the latest victim.

* * *

Abbie and Crane walk down the maze of hospital hallways to Room 1123. With a quick knock of the door, Abbie announces her presence. "Mrs. Sage?"

"Come in," calls a voice from behind the door.

"Sleepy Hollow PD. I'm Detective Mills. This is my partner, Crane. If you're well enough, we'd like to ask you some questions about your attack." Abbie opens the door and finds a large, muscular man swathed from head to toe in bandages and dressing. "Mr. Sage."

"Yup, that's me," his gravely bass voice intones. He coughs lightly at the effort of speaking.

"Can I get you a cup of water, sir," offers Crane solicitously.

"No. Ice chips, please. Nurse said I'm still NPO."

Abbie sees the cup of ice chips next to his desk, and brings the cup and spoon close to his face. "One?"

"Two please," Sage coughs.

Abbie places two ice chips in his mouth and returns the cup and spoon back to the desk. "We were told you were attacked last night. We've been assigned to your case and will be trying to find who did this."

"Did you see the person who attacked you, sir?" enquires Ichabod.

"See him? The bastard. I'm married to him," Pat spits out angrily.

Crane remembers the file. "Mr. Sage. The other, Mr. Sage."

"That's the one. We go for a jog last night, like we do every night. He gets lost—who gets lost in a city park?—and then I find him 20 minutes later. No explanation. Just spaced out." The man in front of them shakes his head in disgust. "We come back home, I turn my back on him, and he attacks me."

"Your partner attacked you?" asks Abbie. She looks at Crane significantly.

"Yes, my partner. Jimmy Sage. Ten years we've been together. I know we've been going through a rocky patch lately, but this? THIS?" Pat starts coughing again.

"Nurse?" Abbie turns and looks for the call button.

"No, I'm fine. Just give me a couple of more ice chips." Abbie brings the ice to his mouth again.

"More?" she asks after she places two chips in his mouth.

"No, thanks." Pat leans back and takes a deep breath. "I hope you arrest that sonuvabitch, and you tell him when you see him to kiss my round, shiny—"

"Thank you for your account, Mr. Sage. We'll contact you if we need anything else." Abbie turns and pulls Crane with her out of the room.

In the hallway, Crane turns to speak with Abbie. "If memory serves, Lieutenant, the other Mr. Sage is the person who reported this Mr. Sage's attack. He said he found him, 'unconscious and bleeding on the floor.'"

Abbie nods. "Which means that either Pat Sage is lying . . ."

Crane snorts. "Hardly. Or that the report is wrong."

Abbie nods. "Johnson and Marks are great cops. They wouldn't get that wrong." Abbie pauses. "Or that James Sage—"

"—was lying when he gave the original report," Crane finishes.

Crane and Mills turn and walk toward the exit of the hospital. Abbie gets on her cell phone and dials the station. "Hi, Wendy? It's Mills. I need to ask you for a favor."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Crane and Mills are standing in the observation room adjacent to the interrogation room where James Sage is being held.

Irving stands behind them and watches the suspect through the one-way glass. "So, you're telling me that James, there, Mr. Button Down Shirt, brutally attacked his partner of ten years? And then calls it in and lies about it to the cops?" Irving shakes his head. "I'm not buying it."

"Sir, our victim is telling us that his partner, James, attacked him," Abbie says.

"Well that explains this attack, but what about the others? And what about the animal fur found at his crime scene and the others?"

"We cannot yet answer those questions, Captain Irving, but we hope that by interrogating this suspect, answers may be gleaned that will help further our investigation."

Irving nods his head over to the suspect. "You're willing to go in there, Mills, with a man whom you suspect tried to eat his partner of 10 years."

"Yes, sir." Abbie returns his incredulous gaze with a steel-eyed stare.

Irving shake his head. "Then get to it, Detective."

Abbie turns and opens the door to the interview room.

James Sage looks up hopefully. "Is this about Pat? How's he doing? The officers who brought me here didn't say anything. Did you find the man who did this?"

"We think we may have." Abbie sits across the table from him. "I'm Detective Abbie Mills. Can you tell us anymore about the night that Pat was attacked, James?"

James nods eagerly. "Absolutely, if it will help bring the criminal to justice." James looks down and tries to remember. "It was evening, we were out for a jog in the park, like we do every night. He was way ahead—he's always way ahead. Pat's fast. Really fit."

Abbie nods. "Your partner said that you were jogging together before it happened. And then what happened."

James frowns. "I don't know, it's kind of fuzzy. I remember stopping for a moment to catch my breath. I watched Pat jog away from me—he knows not to wait and that I'll catch up eventually. And then I heard something in the forest . . ." he trails off. "And then, when I remember getting home and finding Pat. Blood was everywhere. On the floor, all over him. Me. Us." James shook his head. "I tried to stop the bleeding at his neck—that was the worst, and I called 911 on my cell phone."

Abbie watched James as he told his story. He seemed in earnest—the details of the events of the night were still told with urgency of the moment, and the tone and inflection of his voice gave away the emotion behind his words.

"My hands, they were so slippery—thank God for voice activation." He looks back up at Abbie. "Can you tell me about Pat? Is he okay?"

"Mr. Sage, can you tell me anything before you found Pat? Anything leading up to the house or at the end of your jog? Was the door open when you got there? Did you notice anyone suspicious around the house at the time?"

James frowns again. "I don't know. I don't remember anything."

"You don't remember anything suspicious."

James shakes his head. "Actually, detective, I mean I don't remember anything. From the forest to the house is kind of a blur. I think I—I must have just blocked it all out."

Abbie leans back in her chair and watches him carefully. "Your partner, Pat, says that you did this to him."

James' eyes fly open wide. "What?"

Abbie nods. "He says that you got lost in the forest, finished your jog together, and you went to your house, and you attacked him."

James shakes his head vehemently. "No. Definitely not. I love him. Why would I attack him?"

"He said you two were going through a rough patch?" Abbie leans forward. "Maybe you were angry. Fed up with him. Maybe you lost your cool and in the heat of the moment, you hurt him."

James shakes his head again and makes a slashing motion with his hand. "No, detective. Pat is my partner. I love him, I would never hurt him. I would never. Hurt. Him. More than that, I don't remember anything!" He balls his fist in frustration. "How can I have done all that and not remember?"

"Maybe you're lying Mr. Sage. Maybe you did it and you can't face it, and you're lying to us."

James slams his fist on the table. Abbie rises to her feet and looks at the mirror. "Mr. Sage, put your hands in the air, or I will call for back up."

"I'm sorry detective, I'm sorry." He raises his hands in the air.

Abbie sits back down and nods at the mirror. "You can put your hands down, Mr. Sage."

James is looking at Abbie with anger and confusion. Her gut is telling her that he thinks that he is telling the truth. On a hunch, she tests an idea.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about what you remember, Mr. Sage? Maybe not a memory, but a feeling or something you remember thinking at the time?"

James shakes his head. He bites his lip for a moment and then looks up. "There was something. Last night, after it happened. I cleaned up. I went to bed. I had a dream."

"What was your dream, Mr. Sage," asks Abby. Her voice is low and coaxing.

He shakes his head again. "I dreamed that I was standing over Pat, and blood was everywhere, like it was in real life, only it wasn't me. It wasn't me, Detective." He looks at Abbie with a pained look in his eye. "It was just a dream wasn't it?"

Abbie looks at James, and she tries to keep the pity out of her look. "Mr. Sage—"

He closes his eyes. "I would never hurt him. I would never, ever hurt my Patty, Detective." He opens his eyes. "But you're going to charge me anyway, right?"

Abbie stands and raps twice on the mirror. A lock buzzes, and she leaves James Sage, alone with his horrified, disbelieving regret.


	7. Chapter Six

**Crane and Abbie go back to the secret room across from the police station. Crane paces the perimeter of books and files, and Abbie remains seated at the table in the middle, just to the left of the case files. She is unmoving, staring down at the wood grain of the table in front of her.**

"He attacks his own husband. Afterward, he retains no memory of it, save but a vague dream." Crane stops his pacing "Poet and philosophers write of a fugue state—a state where one does not know one's self, where the mind is gone and yet the body remains."

"Does not explain the violence—why he would act so out of character of what he's usually like. Doesn't explain the other deaths, doesn't explain the animal fur."

Crane resumes his pacing. "A spell then. Cast upon his person. Perhaps, when he was lost in the wood, a demon or such came upon him and cast a spell. Forced him to attack his mate."

Abbie shook her head. "Still doesn't explain the animal fur." She sits up. "Hang on." She picks up the notes she took earlier today. "Lost in the woods. Pat Sage was lost in the woods while on a jog with his husband. Jennifer Peterson goes hikes with her husband. Rochelle Frank organized a networking hike in the woods not long before her death."

"Ms. Yu's ballet school is adjacent to the nearby wilderness area," agrees Crane.

"And Tia Orozco's choir gave a concert in the park last month," Abbie says. She pages through the remaining files. "The kids too—a field trip, a camping trip with the boy scouts, and a house next to the park."

"These families, they have nothing in common, except their location in Sleepy Hollow."

"Or, in other words, their proximity to the woods." Abbie waves her hand in the air. "What if there's some creature. Some demon. That lives in the woods and that needs to feed on humans to live?"

Crane shakes his head. "But that would not explain why Mr. Pat Sage has accused Mr. James Sage of the savagery visited upon his person."

"And it wouldn't explain the physical evidence. Although there's animal fur at each crime scene, there are no broken windows. No broken doors. No fingerprints of someone who's not supposed to be there. How then would the demon or creature be able to enter the home of each of the victims?"

"Apparition, perhaps? Or perhaps the demon is of an incorporeal nature?"

Abbie shakes her head. "Doesn't explain why the demon would be able to inflict damage. Apparition, maybe." She pauses. "But what if it didn't have to apparate? What if it had access to the home because it's supposed to have access to the home? Because it already lives here." She looks at Crane. "Or because it looks like it does?"

"A shape-shifter," Crane says with wonder. "Yes, I think I recall seeing something in this archive. A moment." Crane wanders off into the stacks.

Abbie's cell phone blips once more, and Crane races out of the stacks. "Another victim, Lieutenant?"

Abbie screws up her face in embarrassment. "Um, no actually." She presses a few keys and sends a text. "A pressing social engagement."

Crane blinks in confusion. "Ah."

"Jacob. From the game. He texted me directions to his grandmother's farm. We're going to meet on Sunday."

He clears his throat. "I see. And have you received the proper references for his moral character? For his intentions? For his standing in the commun—"

"Enough, Crane. The shape-shifter?" Abbie resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably under Crane's scrutiny.

"Yes." Crane returns to the stack and Abbie relaxes. "Yes, here, I have it."

Crane returns to the table carrying a large book with worn brown leather casing. "The shape-shifter. The skin-changer. The Yenaldooshi." He reads from the worn, delicate page. "Takes the shape of a member of a clan, usually a hunter, and uses its form to attack other members of the clan. Is repulsed by the protection of a home, and must be invited entry to attack within it. Must take on human form to eat, and once sated, returns to its animal form to find another host."

"So, the skin changer takes on the shape of a member of the family, and then attacks the other members in the group?" asks Abby.

"It must take on the form of a human to eat," agrees Crane. He returns to his reading. "Possession of a trinket of a host can more tightly bind the soul of the Yenaldooshi to the human it possesses, rendering their bond nearly indissoluble." He closes the book. "It possesses these people, these men, and makes them attack their families," he says in horror.

"And it finds these men, these families, when they take a trip to the woods," she replies. Abbie's phone rings again. "Mills."

Crane bites his tongue to keep an acerbic comment from leaving his lips.

"Yes, we're on our way." She closes her phone. "We have another case."

* * *

"142 Hunter Avenue. This is it," Abbie declares as she pulls up to the house. "Domestic disturbance."

"Possibly our Yenaldooshi," Crane utters.

"Possibly. Or could be straight up, non-demonic, domestic disturbance." Abbie checks her gun and replaces it in her holster.

"Our plan then, Lieutenant?" asks Crane.

"We go to the house. Find out what's going on," replies Abbie.

"And if it is the creature?"

Abbie shrugs. "We arrest them. Hold them. Until we find a way to get the Yenaldooshi to separate from its host."

"And how will we do that?"

Abbie turns to the house. "We'll figure that out if we get to that point." She turns to him. "You ready Crane?"

Crane peers in the dark at the controls on the door of the car. With a decisive click, he unlocks the locks of the SUV and lifts an eyebrow in challenge.

"Let's roll," Abbie says. She exits the vehicle swiftly.

Together, Abbie and Crane walk up the driveway, past the bushes on the left and up the short staircase to the white paneled door of the house. Abbie rings the doorbell, and after a few moments, a short, plump woman with long flowing dark hair answers the door.

"Sleepy Hollow PD. I'm officer Mills, and this is my partner, Crane. We are responding to a call about a domestic disturbance?"

Though she is crying, the woman at the door pulls herself together and welcomes Crane and Mills into the red brick house. "Yes, please, come in. It's my husband, Fernando. I don't know what's wrong with him. I couldn't understand why he would . . . why he would . . ."

"Okay, ma'am, I need you to start at the beginning. Where's your husband? What's his name?"

"Fernando." The woman takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to still her sobs. "Fernando Juarez. He came home today, I asked him to come home early today because I needed to talk to him. He came home, and we talked, and then he got so angry, so upset. And I told him I didn't understand why he was so angry, but he kept on throwing things and breaking things. I told him I was frightened, that he was frightening me . . ."

"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" Crane asks her.

"No, no, not at all. Fernando would never hurt me. Never. Especially not now. Not with the baby—I just told him tonight."

"Where is he now, ma'am?" Abigail looks around the house. Consistent with the woman's story, the inside of the red brick home with the manicured lawn, the furniture and content of the home are in disarray. The kitchen table is overturned, and chairs are haphazardly arranged around shards of broken dishes that clutter the kitchen floor. In the living room, pictures have been torn from the walls and lay at angles on nearby surfaces, their frames cracked and broken. The beige microsuede couch has two sets of jagged tears down the backrest cushions, as if the claws of an animal ripped the cloth. "Is at home? Are you in danger?"

"No, Fernando. He would never hurt me. Never." The woman begins to sob again, and hard. "He grabbed our gun and left. I don't know where he is. He grabbed our gun and left. I don't know where he went." The woman grabs onto Crane's coat and pleads with him. "Please, I don't know what he will do. I'm afraid. Please bring him back. Please find him."

"Madam, we will do our best." He takes her hand and clasps it in both of his. "Lieutenant."

"I'll search the area. Call in back up. You stay here with Mrs. Juarez." Abbie pulls out her gun and flashlight and points them at the ground.

Mrs. Juarez hears the sound of the holster unclasping, and she turns to Abbie, her eyes wide. "Please don't hurt him. He's not himself. He's never like this. He's so gentle. Something's wrong—something's wrong with him. He's not himself. Please."

"Crane." Abbie warns as she walks toward the door.

He nods to Abbie. "Mrs. Juarez, please come with me," says Crane. He leads the weeping woman to a clear spot on the couch in the living room.

Abbie exits and does a quick survey of the grounds around the house. She clears the bushes, the garage door, and the trees to the left of the house. She comes back around and clears the right side and backyard of the house as well. She lowers her gun and her flashlight and calls on her cell phone. "Lt. Abbie Mills. 142 Hunter Avenue. Domestic disturbance. The wife is unharmed, but the husband is out of the house and armed. Location unknown. I need back up, and possibly an ambulance."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Well send some uni's and an ambulance to your location now," comes the voice from the other end of the line.

"Thanks, Wendy," says Abbie. She hangs up, pockets the phone, and resumes her survey of the street. "Come on, Fernando, please be safe. Let me find you," she mutters to herself. She jogs eastward, toward the intersection of Hunter with the Bellwood, and sees nothing. She is about to turn around and check the other end of the street when a rustle from the tall trees at the right of the columned white, grey, and black house catch her attention.

She raises her flashlight and her gun. "Sleepy Hollow PD. I am armed. Come out with you hands up."

The trees rustle a little more, and Abbie readies her gun. "Sleepy Hollow PD. I am armed. Show yourself, and come out with your hands up."

With a large shake, the trees spit out a dark skinned man of medium build. He is crying and pointing a gun to his head. "Please, I can't stop it. I can't. Shoot me. Please."

Abbie sees the gun pointed at his head. "Mr. Juarez? Put down the gun, please."

Fernando shakes his head. He is in tears, but he still holds the gun to his head. "I can't control it. It wants to hurt her, hurt them, but I can't let it. She just told me—she's pregnant. Our child, our first child." He cocks the hammer of the gun. "Tell her I love her. Please. Tell her I love her. I love them." He squeezes gently on the trigger and lets out a big sob. "Shoot me. Please. I don't know if I can do this."

Abbie shakes her head. "Mr. Juarez? Nobody's hurt. Your wife is fine. Just put down the gun. You don't have to do this. It's not too late, nobody has to get hurt."

With a loud yell, Fernando pulls the trigger. Abbie, in that moment, shoots her gun, and her bullet goes through Fernando's right shoulder.

Fernando falls to the ground, and Abbie runs to him. She kneels next to him and notes the wound in his right shoulder—a clean shot, through and through. She looks at his head and finds that though the wound there has grazed the flesh at the top of his head—her shot deflected his aim-he is alive and breathing. Abbie pulls out her phone. "Individual down. GSW to the head and shoulder. I need that ambulance, now."

"Ambulance is two minutes away," announces Wendy.

She reaches down and feels the pulse in his neck. It is light and fluttery. As blood seeps in great volume from the shoulder and head wounds, Fernando begins to convulse.

"He's going into shock," Abbie declares. She rips off the bottom of her shirt and presses it into his shoulder wound. She rips another piece of her shirt and presses it against his head wound.

Fernando begins to convulse violently, and his eyeballs roll into the back of his head. His body begins to glow red, and Abbie backs away from his form.

"What the—"

His body begins to glow brighter and brighter red, and his body begins to convulse even more violently.

Wind begins to swirl around Fernando's body. It violently picks up Abbie and throws her to the floor ten feet away. She falls to the floor helplessly, and as the world around her fades to a silent black, she feels a menacing presence surround her helpless form, testing her spirit, and nipping at the edges of her awareness.

_Yenaldooshi! _She passes out.


	8. Chapter Seven

**When she wakes, it is to the lights and sirens of law enforcement and medics as they arrive at the scene. She tries to stand up, but a pair two, blue gloved hands soon come and press her gently back onto the pavement.**

"Easy does it, Lieutenant. We got you."

"Fernando Juarez? Is he—"

"Stabilized. The other unit just left. He's on his way to Phelps Memorial right now." His blue-gloved hands dance an efficient ballet of checks and scans of her body and her awareness. "Look into the light, please."

She allows him to check her pupil dilation. "Crane. Mrs. Juarez?"

"Still in the house. We've got this lieutenant." The medic tries to get her to stand. "You hurt anywhere?"

Abbie remembers herself and runs an awareness check of her limbs and trunk. "My right shoulder. Yeah. It's sore." She gives it a stiff roll. "Fell down hard. Probably landed on it."

The medic checks her collarbone and then moves the arm in its socket. Abbie complies—the pain is dull and throbbing.

"Fight or flight is a funny thing. Everyone reacts differently. Some people feel like they've been hit by a truck, afterward. Some people pass out. I knew one guy, threw up every time he had to take a shot." Satisfied, the medic closes up his kit and extends his hand to her left side. "Can you stand?"

Abbie nods and lets herself be helped up by the medic. Together, they walk to the ambulance where Irving is waiting for her.

"Mills."

"Captain." The medic helps her to sit on the floor of the ambulance and finds a cold gel pack for her shoulder.

"After you give your statement to Internal Review, we're gonna have something to talk about, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

Irving leaves, and the two officers from Internal Review come to take her statement about the shooting.

Abbie looks at the medic and waits for him to finish his ministrations. He leaves with a terse smile and a quick pat on her undamaged left shoulder. "Good luck, Lieutenant."

"Thanks." She turns back to the officers. "Abbie Mills."

"I'm Detective Druck. This is Detective Tatham. We're here to take your statement about the shooting of Fernando Juarez," says the shorter of the two men.

"This interview will be recorded." Detective Tatham pulls out a device and clicks it on. "Abbie Mills. Internal Review Interview for the shooting of Fernando Juarez, Sleepy Hollow. Lieutenant Mills, do we have your permission to record this interview?"

"Yes," she replies.

"Tell us what happened tonight. In your own words," asks Detective Druck.

"We got a call about a domestic disturbance. We checked it out. The wife was inside, told us the husband wasn't acting like himself. He was violent—not to her, but to the house. We were told that he retrieved the family gun and left the scene."

Tatham nods. "We found Crane with her, and he told us the same story. But he couldn't tell us what happened afterward."

"I cleared the grounds around the house," Abbie said. "And then I started a search for Mr. Juarez. Found him a the end of the street. He had a gun to his head—he was talking about not being in control and that he didn't hurt her."

"His wife?" asks Druck

"I think." Abbie nods as she remembers the scene. "And then I hear the lock of the hammer, and I realize that he's going to hurt himself. The scene is clear except for Mr. Juarez and I, and I have a clear line of sight to his shoulder. I decide to try to stop him before he hurts himself." She remembers the shot. "Afterwards, I ran to him, he had a clean shoulder wound and a graze to his skull. Applied pressure to the wound and called it in."

"Which hand did he hold the gun with?" asks Druck.

Abbie thinks to herself. "His right. He held the gun to his head with his right hand." Abbie nods. "I shot him in his right shoulder, thinking that I could either stop his shot or throw his aim, at least."

"How many shots were fired, Lieutenant?" asks Tatham.

"Two. One by Mr. Juarez and one by myself."

"Did he shoot you, Lieutenant? You were found at the scene, passed out. Are you injured?"

She shakes her head. "No." She pauses. "Medic said something about fight or flight being stressful. Some people throw up, some people pass out. Guess I passed out." She watches as they write notes into their book. "Look, for the record, Mr. Juarez seemed like he was in extreme duress. He kept saying that he wasn't in control and that he was afraid that he would harm his wife." Abbie pauses. "I think he was doing it to save her, to save his wife."

"From who?" asks Druck. Both he and Tatham look at her inquisitively.

_From what, _she thinks silently. "From himself, I think."

Tatham turns off the tape. "Thank you, Detective."

Druck nods. "You've been through this before—you'll be on leave for a few days. Evidence will gather gun shot residue from Mr. Juarez's clothes and skin. IR will put together a report."

Tatham nods and puts the recorder back into his pocket. "Get a good rest, Lieutenant."

Druck nods. "Looking forward to seeing back out on the streets soon, Detective."

"Thanks, guys." Abbie watches and Tatham and Druck walk away from her.

Irving, who's been nearby, comes up to her. "That all you have to say, Lieutenant? Or did you leave anything out, like how you came to be passed out on the pavement?" He looks at her expectantly. "You've been in situations like this before—you passing out from stress does not add up."

"Juarez, when he was shot, he went into shock. He . . ." she pauses and looks for the words. "He started to shake, and then started to glow red. I've never seen anything like it. And then this force picks me up and slams me against the pavement. Last thing I remember, before I passed out, was a presence. It felt evil. Searching."

"You and Crane. You know what's going on."

"We think it's a creature. The Yenaldooshi. Possesses a person, makes them kill and eat other people."

Irving whistles. "You two figured out how to stop it?"

"No, sir. We're working on it." Abbie thinks for a moment. "The Yenaldooshi wasn't successful tonight. It'll be looking for a new host."

"What does that mean, Detective?" asks Irving.

"We have a day, a couple of days at most before another one of these disturbances happen again." Abbie gives Irving a look of determination. "Any domestic disturbances in the next few days, Captain, might be the Yenaldooshi. We need to get to the partners and children quickly before the Yenaldooshi can do them harm."

Irving nods. "We'll put a priority on the domestic disturbances until we can catch this thing."

"The men, too, they don't know what they're doing. They're possessed. If there was a way we can keep them safe, so they don't hurt anyone, while we figure out how to get the Yenaldooshi out of them, we can save the men so that they can go back to their families."

"Understood, Lieutenant." Irving straightens. "You have two days of administrative leave, Mills. You and Crane use them to figure out how we're going to stop this thing."

"Understood, sir." She watches as Captain Irving turns and walks away to manage the scene.

The medic reappears. "Detective, how you doin'?"

Abbie gives him a terse smile. "Better. In one piece, thanks to you."

"Ice it. You should feel better soon." The medic retrieves the gel pack from her shoulder.

Abbie adjusts her clothing and stands. "You seen my partner? Tall, long hair—"

"British accent? Doesn't trust doctors?" the medic asks.

Abbie grins. "Yeah. Sounds like him."

"Real worried about you—when we got here, he kept yelling for his partner. We weren't sure if he was a victim, a bad guy, or one of us." The medic nodded toward her SUV. "Your Captain Irving came, talked to him, and he settled down." The medic gives her a smile. "He's been waiting at your car."

"Thanks." Abbie looks towards the Juarez's house, where her car is parked, but her partner is nowhere to be found.

She goes to her car. "Crane? Crane?" From her vantage point, she looks around the crime scene, but the familiar lanky profile that she seeks is nowhere to be found.

Abbie is just about to take off down the street, back down toward the scene of the shooting, when she hears a voice coming from behind her.

"Here, Lieutenant!" his voice calls to her from the back of the house.

"Crane!" She jogs to him, slowly. She finds him looking with confusion at the forest behind the Juarez house. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I heard . . ." he pauses, looking into the darkness. "It was nothing." He turns to her, and at first, it as if he is in a trance. A blank look covers his features, and it is only after a confused, furious blinking that Crane focuses on the short woman in front of him. "Miss Mills! Are you hurt? Are you injured? What happened to Mr. Juarez? Captain Frank was here. Mrs. Juarez, she—"

"Not now, Crane. Let's get you home, and we can talk about it on the way," Abbie replies.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Author's Notes: **This chapter is rated M.

* * *

Abbie drives Crane and herself to the cabin. During the drive, they swap stories. Abbie tells Crane about the shooting and about the Yenaldooshi, and Crane tells her about the aftermath—how Fernando was loaded into the ambulance, about Druck and Tatham's questions, and about Mrs. Juarez's devotion to her husband.

"When they attended to Mr. Juarez, and he was loaded into the medic's vehicle, I could no longer keep Mrs. Juarez to the couch." He looks out the window, watching the dark shapes of trees whip by along the highway as they drove. "She jumped to his aid, and requested that she be brought with him to the hospital."

"He was the same—while he was standing there, holding the gun, he kept telling me that he loved her, that he was afraid for her."

"It is no wonder—as husband and wife, they are bound together, to care for one another. To assist one another in times of need." He pauses. "How fortunate indeed, to have someone upon whom one can rely and trust implicitly."

For the rest of the ride, Crane is silent, and Abbie, who is too tired to coax him from his fugue.

They arrive at his home, and Abbie parks her car outside Corbin's cabin. Her eyes take in Crane's posture; he remains seated and gazes out of the car window. He also makes no move to leave her car.

Abbie's concern trumps her need for rest. "Long day, Crane?" she asks quietly.

"Yes, indeed, Ms. Mills," agrees Crane. He wears a pained look of deep introspection.

When Crane doesn't move from his seat, Abbie quietly turns the ignition off and waits. "Something on your mind, Crane?"

"These men whose families have been attacked. I wonder at the horror they must feel, finding that their loved ones have been harmed, and that they have been unable to protect them," Crane blurts.

"I can't even imagine Crane. I mean, not that I've ever really had a family to speak of. It was just me and Jenny, for a long time, the two of us against the world." Abbie shakes her head. "But I was the older sister, so if any had even tried to harm Jenny?"

Crane nods. "Similarly, if someone would have tried to harm Katrina, or if they had harmed her in my absence . . . even now, Katrina is held captive by Moloch, and I am powerless to free her."

Abbie's uncomfortable shift at the mention of Katrina's name draws Crane out of his guilty reverie. "Are you all right, Ms. Mills?"

Abbie nods and waves off his concern. "I'm all right, Crane."

Crane looks at Abbie more closely, and in the dim greenish light of the console, he sees her face is tight with pain. "You are wounded! Where?—"

Abbie purses her lips and says nothing, but a slight movement of her shoulder gives her away. Immediately, Crane's fingers fly to the edge of her jacket collar.

"May I?" he asks.

She stares at him. A simple question, but Abbie is loath to let her guard down. "This has nothing to do with you, Crane. Back off."

"Please, lieutenant. The suffering of a friend causes grief in one's self. If one is hurt, if one suffers, it is unkind to deny others the chance to alleviate one's pain."

"What?" Abbie asks. Crane prods again at her shoulder, and she releases a soft groan.

He looks at her, his gaze filled with the full weight of his considerable concern. "Please, lieutenant, may I help you?" he asks with quiet sincerity.

Abbie lets go of a breath she didn't know she was holding, and nods.

Crane gently peels back the collar of her leather jacket on her right side and sees nothing. He reaches around her neck and grasps the other side of her jacket and gives a slight tug. "I apologize, lieutenant, but may I?"

She nods, and gently shrugs the jacket off her shoulders. She sits before him, in her form fitting tank top, with her shoulders exposed.

As he examines her neck, her collarbone, and her shoulder, the tips of Crane's fingers brush softly against her hair. He traces his digits over her impossibly smooth flesh, seeking injury and disfigurement of some sort, but finds none. His face is close to her skin, and though the smell of sandalwood fills his senses, he detects not the tell tale iron tang of blood in the air.

He leans back from her. "Can you move your shoulder? Or does pain immobilize it?"

Abbie gingerly moves the joint in its socket. "Yeah. Hurts real bad, but I can move it."

Crane nods and places her jacket on the gearbox between them. "Then I am pleased that your injury is not a grievous one." He looks at her anxiously, and feels his chest swell with protectiveness and regret. "I should have been more vigilant in my dealings with the creature tonight."

"Crane, it is not your fault. I got whumped by a baddie. It happens with this whole Witness thing," says Abbie. "And besides, your knowledge of the Yenaldooshi saved that family tonight. If you hadn't found the information about it, that call might have had a very different outcome that family."

"As glad as I am for the family Juarez, I cannot help but feel regret for your injury, Ms. Mills. You are cared for by your friends and family, if you are hurt, they too would worry, thus I feel regret both for your pain and their concern." Crane reaches a hand out and traces a finger over the exposed skin of her pained shoulder. "You are, to them, precious, Ms. Mills," he says with the quiet intimacy of regret.

Abbie's gaze is fixed on him, and she waits, allowing silence to fill the space between them for half a moment too long. "Only to them, Crane?" asks Abbie quietly.

Crane inhales sharply. In his moment of concern, he's forgotten himself, his station as her partner, and his covenant as a man married to a wife still trapped and waiting for release from Purgatory. Crane leans away from Abbie, closes his eyes, and finds himself.

When he opens his eyes, Abbie is donning her leather jacket and turning on the car. In one swift movement, Crane opens the door and exits the SUV. He places his hands behind his back and addresses his partner through the open window. "I wish you a good night, detective. I will see you on the morrow."

Abbie nods her head. "Good night, Crane."

Crane leans away from window frame and sets back from the car. With a curt nod, he watches as Abbie drives her car away from the cabin.

With a quick about face, Crane spins on his heel and marches himself toward the cabin. A brief tussle with the lock, and he enters the home. The quiet of the cabin is usually a welcome respite from days and hours spent in a world filled with sights and sounds to which he is unaccustomed, but tonight, the word that better describes his home is _empty._

Ichabod prepares for bed but finds the ritual void of its usual comfort. Though he removes his own jacket, he remembers the feel of leather sliding against impossibly smooth flesh. As he shakes his hair from its bindings, he feels not the smooth glide of his own hair against his shoulders, but thinks instead of the coarse softness of a woman's hair against her neck. And as he removes his undershirt, though the scent of a day's work wafts to his nose, his senses are instead filled with the memory of sandalwood perfume.

He knows it is unseemly of him to think with ardor upon Ms. Mills in her vulnerable state, but as he stands, shirtless, alone in his cabin, the urgent yearning that fills his recently revived flesh makes him feel exposed and powerful.

His necklace—Katrina's necklace—is missing.

His hands fly to the hollow of his neck and find it empty. He then finds his undershirt, his overshirt, and his coat, but his examination of them is to no avail. A vague feeling of betrayal fills him, and he begins to search the cabin for the lost memento of his wife.

A sound from outside the cabin draws his attention.

Ichabod turns and walks to the window. Night has fallen, and the light from the moon and stars that evening is dim. He cannot see much beyond the bounds of either his house or his porch. He knows that he is alone in the wilderness—Abbie has not yet bought him the cellular telephone that broadcasts one's voice through the air—and he knows that if there is something that wishes him harm, he must deal with it alone or hide within the walls of his cabin.

Crane finds his axe, and quietly opens his cabin door. He crouches low to the floor and moves quietly. An efficient inspection of the grounds he conducts with his eyes, darting from left to right, high and low, from his stance on the front porch. He closes the cabin door, though not completely, so the lock will not clasp and draw attention. He extends a hand toward the ground to feel if there are tremors that betray movement, and smells the air to detect gunfire, smoke, or blood.

Nothing betrays the danger in the night that awaits him.

Thinking that exhaustion and over-active imagination must have manufactured an imaginary evil at his front porch, Crane straightens and cautiously walks backward toward the door.

A rustle from the thicket in front of his cabin draws startles him, and once more he readies his axe.

"Who's there? Show yourself," he proclaims.

A form emerges from the bushes, lithe and graceful. It is dark, and Ichabod peers at the form, willing its features to coalesce into a person.

A bare, muscled leg flashes in the dim starlight. Thighs, hips, breasts emerge from the dark, and before him soon stands a person in the form of Abbie Mills.

"Ms. Mills?" he asks uncertainly. He is sure that he watched her drive away from his cabin, but before him stands the lieutenant, bereft of clothes. Around her form only is an animal pelt. "Ms. Mills, please, come inside. What is wrong?"

The creature before him follows him back to the porch, through his door, and, having been invited inside, into the cabin. Thinking only of her vulnerable state, he finds his coat and throws it around her, leading her to a chair. "Ms. Mills, in what state have you found yourself. Are you well?"

Ichabod moves away to find a blanket to better cover her. In his concern, he has forgotten his own semi-nudity, and the muscles of his chest and stomach ripple as he walks about the room. A blanket, a pot of warm water, a mug—he throws logs in the stove for a fire to warm the room and the lieutenant.

The creature watches him silently and observes the deft movements he makes as he flits about the room. She is pleased with what she sees—his strength, his youth, his vigorous manhood—and she stands and walks toward him.

Ichabod hears the scrape of the chair and turns. He sees this creature, his Abbie, turn and face him. She sheds her blanket, his jacket, and she walks toward him. She open, exposed, and intentional as she walks toward him, and though his mind is filled with confusion, his body shudders with the absolute certainty of his desire.

Fighting with himself, struggling to maintain propriety and decency, Ichabod retreats. "Lieutenant? Is something wrong?" A step. Another step. "What is wrong, Lieutenant Mills? What are you doing?"

"I need you," the creature whispers. "Crane. Ichabod. Give yourself to me. Give in to your desire."

"Ms. Mills, I am afraid that I have taken advantage of our earlier situation. Please forgive my wrong; if I have intimated in any way that we are anything other than colleagues and friends—"

"I need you, Crane," Abbie whispers again. She walks toward him, slowly, as a hunter would stalk its prey. Abbie licks her lips.

Crane watches in fascination the way Abbie's tongue darts over her lips. He finds himself all too aware now of the nakedness of his chest and the emptiness of his hands, and he wills himself not to reach out to the woman in front of him. One step, another step, and he finds his back is now against the wall.

A slow, easy smile spreads across Abbie's face. The smile is one of victory, of conquering, or mastery, and though it should make Crane fear what is to come next, he finds a curious sort of thrill in the idea of surrendering to the whim of the woman in front of him.

Breath comes fast and shallow to Ichabod, and he reaches out his hands to hold Abbie at arm's length. "I cannot do this Abbie."

"Please, Crane, I need you. So that you will be mine. Say that we can be one," Abbie asks.

"If you truly ask this of me, I will find that my will and my desire will no longer be of one accord." Of their own volition, Crane's hands move from the propriety of Abbie's shoulders and begin to explore the smooth glide of her arms and neck. "Abbie, please, do not ask this of me." Restraint gives way to curiosity, and then need. He fills his arms with her, and draws her naked form to his own exposed flesh. He feels the reality of their warm bodies colliding, and he groans.

Guilt and desire war within him, but the heat of Abbie's body fills the void left in him by the cold ground of his burial. For the first time since his awakening, Ichabod feels something other than loss and emptiness. He feels pleasure and desire. And as he fills his hands with the feel of Abbie's skin, Ichabod's world narrows so that he no longer knows nothing other than _need_—for touch, for smell, for love, for the comfort and pleasure of the woman in his arms. His mind feebly protests that something must be wrong, that his feelings for Abbie, while familiar, are unnaturally stronger in this moment, but the song of desire sung by his flesh is too urgent, and he gives in to his need to have her.

He lowers her mouth to hers hungrily, and fills his arms with her body. Arms, breasts, hips, once unexplored now he claims with the wandering travels of his palms. She responds in kind, and soon, they find themselves in his room, in his bed, with their limbs enmeshed, and Crane poised to mount her.

He is entranced, bespelled, and overcome, and though in his right mind he would end their amorous activity now, his senses have left him, and he yields.

Ichabod and Abbie become one, and he fills himself with the pleasure of being with her. They move in passion as they do as partners, as one and with synchronicity.

Too soon, he finds himself at his brink, and he pleads. "Abigail. Abigail. Please."

"We are as one now, Ichabod. Give yourself to me," she responds.

Ichabod finds his release and collapses.

Abbie sits up and turns toward Crane. Gently, she runs her fingers over his face and stares at him intensely.

Ichabod opens his eyes, and finds himself unnerved by her gaze. He places a hand gently over hers.

A gasp of pain leaves him, and his hand grips hers like a vise. His eyes are wide with worry and surprise, but he is unable to speak—he is choking.

"We are as one now, Ichabod," Abbie says. She watches his struggles dispassionately.

A painful tremor passes through Crane, and his limbs stiffen and shake violently. His eyes roll back in his head, and he loses consciousness.

When Crane wakes, the creature that looked like Abbie is gone, but he is not alone. He is aware of his body, but he finds he no longer has control over it. Something else is inside of him. Something else moves his limbs and controls his walk within the walls of his cabin home. Something else brings him to stand in front of the mirror.

He sees his reflection and watches it lick its lips, hungrily.

He is no longer Ichabod Crane. He is Yenaldooshi. And he is _hungry._


	10. Chapter Nine

The weekend passes quietly for Abbie. She spends Saturday, at home, resting, cleaning, and primping and preening for her date.

Sunday, as she prepares herself for her date with Jacob, she wonders as the weekend of silence from Crane. Usually she receives a text or a brief phone call, inquiring politely about her health or a comment about the fineness of the weather. Occasionally, she's received a frustrated text about the latest of Crane's observations—taxes, technology, fashion, and etiquette form the bulk of these. His texts or brief calls are short and respectful, reminding her of his presence and feeding the growing ease of the burgeoning friendship.

While a weekend bereft of Crane's e-presence is not troubling—Crane is, after all, a grown man—Abbie's notice of his absence unsettles her.

It is with a little too much enthusiasm and brightness that she promptly pulls her car into the driveway of the Ellerby Sheep farm at noon.

A sure-footed boot emerges from her SUV, and Abbie hops down from her seat onto the lush green grass of arable land. A sprawling, white-painted farmhouse abuts the trees to her left, and to her right, behind the dark-brown wood fence, is a family of three sheep. Behind them, about 50 yards back, stands the main part of the flock of two dozen, eating grass and standing in the sun.

Abbie smiles with surprise. _There's the sheep,_ she thinks. _I'm waiting for the compliments and flattery._

As if on cue, a dark, tan, fit young man emerges from the farmhouse and walks toward the main part of the flock. Abbie sees Jacob walking with his athletic stride and waves. "Jacob!"

He turns and grins easily at her. "Abbie! You made it!" He sets down the bundles that he is carrying and sprints toward her. He jumps over the three-foot fence and stops short a few feet in front her. "M'lady," he says as he leans into an abbreviated bow.

Abbie laughs with surprise. "Mr. Ellerby."

Jacob rises. "Please. Jacob. Thanks for coming. And welcome to the farm."

"Thank you." She looks around at the lush rolling green in front of her. "And you were serious. This is an actual sheep farm. With sheep."

"Yes. It's my grandmother's. If you'd like, I can give you a quick tour. It's on our way to . . ."

"To?" she asks.

Jacob grins. "A surprise. But please, come with me." He turns, runs to the fence, and leaps over it easily.

Abbie laughs. "Easier said than done, I think." She walks slowly toward where Jacob stands. "It is my day off, and I am not climbing over this."

"No problem, Abbie. There's another way." With he a wink, he fiddles with the latch, and the fence comes open.

"There is always another way," Abbie responds automatically. The words echo strangely in her ears, and she her fingers brush over the outline of her cellphone in her jeans' pocket.

Jacob nods. "That's what coach says, anyway." He closes the fence behind her and places his hand gently on the small of her back. "Ready?"

Abbie brushes the thought of Ichabod from her mind. "Absolutely."

Jacob picks up his bundles and walks with Abby past the small family of sheep, past the main flock, and further down the green, rolling field to a stand of trees next to a river. There, a group of about ten people sit on picnic blankets surrounding a central pile of food.

"A party?" Abbie asks as they walk toward the group.

"Something like that." Jacob opens his bundle and pulls out a bottle of wine. "Sheep is life."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a celebration. For the sheep. For the way that we, the Dine, the Navajo, make our living." Jacob crooks his elbow and invites Abbie to put her arms through his arm. "What do you think?"

Abbie took in the children and grandparents playing and talking around the blankets. She watched as the women and men laughed and flirted and milled around, careless smiles and easy banter flowing as easily as the river that flowed next to their picnic site. Looking at the family in front of her, Abbie felt herself melt—she felt the city, her cases, her role as Witness slough off of her, leaving her light and wanting.

Abbie places her hands through Jacob's arm and squeezes his elbow. "I think it's perfect."

Jacob leans in close and speaks softly into her ear. "It is now."

A shiver passes through Abbie, and she is pleased by its thrilling tremor. _And there's the flattery, _she thinks.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Rating: **K for all audiences.

**Author's notes: **No action (some action?), mostly character and plotting in this chapter. Also, a couple of gratuitous, sideways glancing references to the much beloved Firefly. Action (and gnashing of demon possessed teeth!) is coming in . . . two chapters-ish? Also, thank you very much for the reviews, favorites, and follows. (And for your patience!)

* * *

Abbie is introduced to the Ellerby clan, and it is with joy and welcome that she is received. Uncles, aunts, a sister and her husband, nieces and nephews, and Jacob's grandmother sit on blankets under trees next to the stream. The banter between men and women is light and easy, the children are polite and playful, and everyone seems to genuinely enjoy being in one another's company.

Abbie is eating her second hamburger—an indulgence!—when a game begins. The family splits into two teams, and a large blanket is suspended between them. Abbie watches, and in front of Grandmother Ellerby but behind the blanket, a commotion takes place. The blanket is lowered, and in front of Jacob's grandmother, there are four shoes buried in the dirt, with their tops sticking up.

Abbie watches as one by one, the members of Abbie's team line up in front of Grandmother Ellerby to take their turn playing the game. As the other members of Grandmother Ellerby's team sing songs, the person playing the game points at a shoe filled with dirt. Each time, Grandmother Ellerby shakes her head, picks up and empties the shoe, the blanket is resuspended, and the next round begins.

Both Jacob and Abbie get in line. In front of her, Jacob takes his turn. "Well, Shimásání?"

"Yes, Sitsoi?"

"I think today will be the day. I will finally choose the shoe with the ball in it," declares Jacob.

"Nila, my dear." Grandmother Ellerby motions to the shoes. "The time for talk is past."

Jacob strokes his chin and looks thoughtfully at the shoes. He picks the second shoe from his left. "That one, Shimásání."

Grandmother Ellerby smiles. "I'm sorry, Sitsoi. Today is a beautiful day, but it is not the day that you will beat me at the shoe game." She picks up the shoe from the dirt and turns out nothing but empty air.

Jacob laughs raucously, and his family chuckle in response. "Ten years since I started playing this game. We do this every winter, and I've never gotten this right." Jacob turns to grin at Abby. "I hope you have better luck," he says as he moves to the back of the line.

"I hope so too," Abbie says. Finally, last among her team, Abbie faces Grandmother Ellerby.

For the first time, Abbie looks, really looks at Jacob's grandmother. She is short, with kind, dark, eyes and tanned skin. Her grey hair is swept back from her face, which is open, but knowing, and bears an inquisitive expression.

"Abbie," Grandmother Ellerby acknowledges the Lieutenant.

"Mrs. Ellerby," Abbie responds coolly. She watches the Ellerby matriarch for her tells—a small tick, a smile, a microexpression of worry, anything. Instead, the inquisitive expression intensifies.

"Doli, please. Everyone calls me Doli," she says.

"Thank you, Doli." Abbie examines the dirt filled shoe tops in front of her. "So, I pick one, and if it has the ball, my team gets the point, right?"

Doli nods. "Right. Each side goes, and the team with the most points wins."

"But it's equal chance, right?" Abbie reasons. "One in four chance, five people per team. Each team will probably get a point a piece."

"That's right, Abbie," agrees Doli.

"Then equal chance of each team winning. Unless . . . you can figure out the tell of the hider." Abbie tilts her head at the singers around Doli. "The songs? They're distraction, right?"

"Yes," Doli admits. Her eyes begin to dance with interest. "They also are lessons about honesty, and trusting your instinct. Finding truth and being true to yourself."

Abbie nods and watches Doli. Abbie seeks truth in the matriarch's face, but her amused expression gives nothing away. Knowing that she won't find an answer there, she looks down and sees a slight pull of Doli's left hand toward her stomach. Abbie feels her gut clench, and she ventures what she thinks is a 50/50 guess.

Abbie points to the shoe in the middle on Doli's left. "That shoe. The ball is in the third shoe."

Doli's face remains amused as she picks up the shoe from the dirt and shakes it. At first, nothing comes out. After a few seconds, a small green ball emerges from the shoe and rolls onto the grass.

"One point for our guest, Abbie," announces Doli.

Abbie grins, and Jacob pats her on the back. "How'd you do that, Abbie? No one ever gets a point from Doli."

Doli lifts her eyebrow in curiosity.

Abbie smiles enigmatically. "I trusted my gut. Found the truth." She leans in closer to Doli and whispers. "Your left hand's your tell."

"It always has been. I'm working on it. Don't tell anyone." Doli laughs quietly. "You have quite the pair of eyes, Abbie. A pair of eagle eyes, I think."

"That's what I was always told, that I got two things from my mom—a voice that can carry a tune, and a pair of good eyes," agrees Abbie with a laugh.

Doli laughs again and takes one of Abbie's hands in hers. "Abbie. Atsa Biyaazh. Daughter of the eagles. You are welcome here."

"Thank you, Doli," Abbie says as she shakes her hand. Jacob escorts Abbie to the back to her team, where she is met with high fives and congratulations.

"I think she likes you," whispers Jacob into her ear.

Abbie receives everyone's happy congratulations. For once, she feels the warmth and inclusion of being a part of a family, and though the feeling is foreign, it is welcome.

"I think I like everyone," agrees Abbie.

* * *

A few more rounds, and the game ends, the only point being scored belonging to Abbie and her team. In her honor, the Ellerbys award Abbie a colorful knitted hat, which Abbie accepts with some embarrassment and a surprising amount of pride.

The children disperse and play in the river. The adults gather around the picnic blankets and chat as they watch over the children.

"Ah, to be young again. To be free, and to have all of your life in front of you again," sighs Doli.

"You have given us so much, Doli, and you have done so much for all of us," says an aunt.

"You left your home and made a new one, here, in New York," offers an uncle.

"And you took me in, when I had no one to turn to," agrees Jacob.

"My children, my children's children, and my children's children's children are all around me. How lucky I am indeed," agrees Doli.

The family quiets, but Abbie is curious. "Grandmother Ellerby. Doli. If I can ask, how did you do it? How did you make a life with all of this?" she says as she gestures to the pasture, the river, and the family gathered around her.

"Love, Atsa Biyaazh. And the courage to keep going." Doli's gaze becomes thoughtful. "After the war, my husband and I came here for his schooling, and we settled here. To make ends meet while he took his classes, I knitted and sold our wool. Blankets, hats, sweaters, anything I could make to make ends meet. When he graduated, in business, we turned my craft into a way of life." She pulls her fingers together, a reflexive response to the memories she thinks of. "We bought a sheep for wool. One sheep turned to two, to three, and soon we had a heard of sheep and a community of people to knit. We sell our blankets now in the city and on the internet." She gestures to the people around them. "It was hard sometimes, but we saved money. Fed our children. Sent them to school. And now, they come back to have families of their own."

"That's amazing, Doli," agrees Abbie.

"And it runs in the family," says one of the uncles. "Johona followed the same path, went to school for business, and now helps Doli run the business in the city."

"And Jacy went to school to become a doctor," volunteers an aunt about her husband.

"My children are happy, so I am happy," agrees Doli. "And what about you, Abbie?"

"Oh, you know. Still working. Still figuring things out."

"Do you like what you're doing?" asks Doli.

"I get to help people, so yes, Doli, I do," agrees Abby.

"And who is you family? Who are the ones close to you?"

"I have a sister, but we're not close. Haven't been for awhile, but I think that's changing." Abbie thinks about this. "A mentor, but he . . . died a few months ago." Abbie is quiet. "Some colleagues at work. A partner. My partner. I guess, right now, he probably knows me better than anyone."

A shift from her right reminds her that Jacob is listening. Abbie turns to him. "And what about you?" she asks. "How did you get here?"

Jacob smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind Abbie's ear. "Nothing exciting. My mother is Doli's eldest daughter. She and dad raised us back in Arizona. I was in college when a scout saw one of my games, and . . . " he shrugs. "I moved here, lived with Doli. Things turned out okay, so I stayed."

"That was very brave of you, to move here, all the way from Arizona," observes Abbie.

"Well, if I hadn't I'd probably be a teacher in Arizona. That's what I went to school for, when I wasn't playing ball." Jacob nudges Abbie. "What about you?"

"What about me?" asks Abbie.

"If you didn't come here. Or if you didn't become a cop, where would you be, and what would you be doing?"

Abbie smiles. "Well, I'm from here, so I'd probably still be here. But, if I wasn't a cop?" Abbie shrugs. "I can't imagine not being a cop. But if I could be a cop _and_ something else? I think I'd like to be a singer."

"A singer?" asks Jacob with surprise.

"Yeah. A gospel singer. My mother made us recite verses, Bible verses, when we were young. Made us memorize them. The only way I could remember them is if I could sing them, put them to music." Abbie shrugs. "I never really liked memorizing the verses, but after awhile, I liked singing the songs. They were the same as the bible verses, but they made you feel things—happy. Sad. Despair. Joy. I liked that because it made the words feel real to me. Like they mattered."

Doli nods her head. "I feel the same. When I was a girl, I would knit and learn knitting, but I always wanted to be with the boys, learning our sacred songs."

One of the aunts smiled and placed her hand over Doli's. "I know the story, mother. That's how you got your nickname, Doli, because she sang like a bluebird."

"That was a long time ago," said Doli.

"Will you sing for us, grandmother?" asks Jacob. His voice is low, gentle, and coaxing, and the smile he gives her is hopeful.

"Ah, Sitsoi. I can never say no to you," says Doli.

Jacob's aunt and uncle, Johona and Jacy, move to sit next to their mother. Jacy unpacks a large, black object, and unzips the bag to reveal a guitar. Together, Johona, Jacy, and Doli prepare themselves to sing.

Jacob sits close to Abbie and places an arm around her shoulders. "Hey. Thanks for today," he says into her ear. His voice is low, but bright, and Abbie feels pleasurable warmth flush her skin.

"Thank _you_ for today, Jacob. I'm having a nice time," Abbie says.

"I know a date is usually movie and a dinner, or a bar, or coffee or something, but if you want to get to know me, this . . . this is it. This is me," he says as he gestures to his family.

"Then thanks. Thanks for letting me get to know you better." Abbie leans in and gives him a quick kiss on his cheek. "This is so . . ."

"Nice? Not boring, I hope?"

"Real. This is so real," Abbie says incredulously.

"And something you'd want to do again?" he asks hopefully. Jacob takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

Abbie feels a wariness rise inside of her, and her only answer is to squeeze his hand in return.

* * *

The rest of the date passes, and after an hour of songs and sunset, the children tire, the parents gather their families, and the family Ellerby breaks apart for the evening.

"That's it. That's the end of Sheep is Life for 2014," explains Jacob. "We have the actual festival in Arizona every year, and when I moved here, it was something I really missed. So Doli put this together for me."

"And now we do this every year," agrees Jacy as he gathers his family.

"No matter is going on, we make time for this—for our tradition, and for each other," agrees Johona.

"Be safe on your way home, my children," says Doli in farewell. "Ahh, Abbie. Atsa Biyaazh. Thank you for coming, and thank you for taking part in our traditions," says Doli as she grasps Abbie's hands in hers.

"Thank you, Doli. I'm so grateful to be able to spend the time with you all."

"Jacob?" asks Doli. "Will you return to the city?"

"In a minute, Shimasani. I'll say good bye first, though, after I escort Abbie back to her car," says Jacob to his grandmother.

Abbie and Jacob walk through the pasture, past the flock of sheep, to the fence. Jacob unlatches the fence and allows Abbie to walk through.

"Thank you again for today, Jacob," says Abbie.

"The pleasure is all mine, Abbie." Jacob closes the fence and looks at her curiously. "I won't . . . I won't see you again, will I?"

Abbie gasps in surprise, but does not contradict him.

"It's okay. I know that all of this is a lot. I'm not trying to put any pressure on anyone, Abbie."

"I know Jacob. I meant it when I said that I liked coming, and that I liked spending the day with everyone."

"But?" he asks

"But . . . I don't know how to do that. The family thing. I didn't have it growing up, and I don't have it now, and even though I want it some day . . ."

Jacob nods. "I know. Not now."

Abbie steps forward and puts her hand over his on the fence. "Not yet. Some Day."

Jacob gives her a wistful smile. "Well, if Some Day is someday soon, give me a call. I had a good time today, and I'd really love the chance to do it again sometime." He gives her hand a squeeze and then withdraws, straightening his posture. "In the mean time, you've got this."

Jacob pulls out the brightly colored knit hat that Abbie won earlier.

"Your family's hat!" exclaims Abbie.

"Your hat. You won it fair and square." Jacob hands the bundle of colored yarn over to Abbie.

Abbie feels equal parts of pleasure, pride, and regret as she examines the yarn of the hat. "Thanks, Jacob."

She beams up at him. Abbie sees a wistful longing in Jacob's face that mirrors her own, and with a swift tip toe, she reaches up to kiss him on his lips.

The kiss is sweet—full of gratitude and pleasure, surprise, and discovery. It is also, however, brief, and Abbie breaks contact before the kiss can deepen.

Jacob blinks a couple of times and shoves his hands in his pocket. "You better go, Abbie, before I try to convince you to stay."

"I'll go, because I think you could," says Abbie truthfully. She turns and walks to her SUV.

"I'd give it my best shot," Jacob says with a joking swagger.

Abbie turns back to Jacob and gives him a full-throated laugh. "Good bye, Jacob Ellerby."

"Bye, Abbie Mills."

Abbie watches and Jacob turns and starts walking empty handed toward his grandmother's house.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Her drive back to her apartment is silent, but the brightly colored yarn of her hat beckons to her from the empty passenger seat of her car. It is the first thing she grabs when she leaves her SUV and the last thing she puts down when she enters her apartment.

She goes to her closet and removes the clothes from the day. _That could be me, _she thinks as she strips out of her jeans and t-shirt. _That could be me on a picnic with my family—Sunday afternoon by a stream. Kids. Husband. Family. _She shakes her head and laughs at her fancy. _What am I thinking? If Corbin knew—_

She catches herself, but she is too late. She forgot, for a moment, in her moment of wanting, she forgot who she was, the price she's paid, and the mission she is been given to fulfill.

Regret fills her, and as she pads around her apartment in flannel pajama pants and a tank top, she picks up the brightly colored hat, her prize from the day's games, and throws it into her increasingly large pile of stuff for later. Magazines, nail polish, New York Times best sellers all gather in a pile on her table, now along with a brightly colored hat, for a time in her mind that she thinks of as _Some Day_, after the Apocalypse is averted.

Abbie sighs, but the doorbell rouses her from a true slide into self-pity, and she goes to answer it.

In front of her stands a disheveled, tired looking, British fellow Witness. "Abigail."

"Crane." She thinks about their exchange in the car the other night, about the feel of Crane's fingers running over the skin of her shoulder, and about the tickle of his warm breath against her neck as he inspected her in jury. Her breath catches, and the hair on her neck raises. "What's going on?"

"Abigail. I need you. Please."

Abbie closes her door slightly and shakes her head. "I'm sorry Crane. It's late, and I'm tired. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Please, Abigail. I need you. Please." Crane raises his voice and speaks persistently through the small crack. "You are the one person in the world who knows me, who truly knows who I am. It is to you alone whom I can turn when I am in need of aid."

Abbie opens the door further and steps through halfway. "You okay, Crane? Are you hurt? What's going on?"

"I . . . need . . . you . . . but . . . I . . . am not hurt." Crane appears to fight with himself. He turns and walks away slowly. "Leave me, Lieutenant."

At his strange behavior, Abbie grows concerned. Abbie is tempted to invite him inside, but the memory of the day is fresh, and she thinks with frustration about the pile of _Some Day _waiting for her on her table. Some day, when the Apocalypse is averted, Crane, fellow Witness he may be, will be reunited with his wife, and together, they will live the life of which they were robbed when Crane was slain by the Horseman 200 years ago. For him, Some Day means that a new life, with love and possibility waits for him.

For Abbie, however, an estranged sister and a pile of mail are her only rewards. But damn it, as meager as the rewards may be, it is _her_ sister and _her _pile of _Some Day_. They may not be much, they belong to her and her alone, and for her, they _will be_ enough.

Abbie steps out of her apartment, discreetly closes the door, and goes to him. "I'm not leaving you, Crane, but this is some strange behavior. It is late, I'm tired, and if it can wait until tomorrow, I'd really love it if we can deal with whatever this is then."

Crane grimaces, as if hurt, and rushes to Abbie. He grabs her shoulders harshly, but she stands unruffled, if confused. "I said leave me, Lieutenant. Please. I fear . . ." He trembles as he holds her, then a deep stillness takes him. "Please, Abbie. I need you."

Abbie looks searches his face for some clue to his confusing behavior. The thing about Crane has always been that although he is smart, one of the smartest people she's ever known, she knows it is his feelings that drive him, feelings and passions that write themselves too plainly upon his face for all to read. She has seen him smug. She has seen him surprised and delighted, confused, appalled, and outraged. She has watched his face contort with a myriad of emotions, the movement of his eyebrows and cheeks pulling his face into infinite varieties of expression. But now his face is strangely blank, and the only clue about the strangeness is the slight growl of his voice. His voice, usually so warm, is brittle and hard, and it unnerves her.

Something is not right, but she is too tired and too lonely to figure it out tonight.

"I'm sorry, Crane. As long as you're not bleeding or injured, and if there's no demon or gate of Hell that's opening, I'm going to ask that it wait until tomorrow." She gives him a tired smile of apology and removes herself gently from his grasp. She opens her door and walks in.

"Abbie, please."

"Tomorrow, Crane. I promise." She looks at him. It is brief, but a slight shadow of relief passes over his face before the blankness settles in again. "Good night, Crane."

She closes the door behind her. She walks to her bedroom, goes through her night rituals, and is about to go to sleep, when she feels strangeness settle over her. Something is here—something she can't see, can't hear, and can't place, but she knows something is wrong.

Abbie removes the gun from her nightstand and listens in the darkness. In her apartment, everything is still, but from outside, she can hear howling.

_Coyotes. Or maybe that new Coyote Wolf hybrid—don't they call them Coywolves or something? _Abbie wonders.

She listens to a few more moments, and the stillness of her house settles her mind, if not her nerves. It is with a tired reluctance that, after a moment more, she holsters her gun and goes to sleep.

* * *

Relief and dismay fill Ichabod as Abbie closes the door to her home. He knows what would have happened if she had let him into her home, and the thought of it frightens and dishonors him. And yet, though he is glad for her safety and for her prescient refusal of his request, he could not help but wish that she would have known his struggle, known of his true need for her. He wishes that she had let him find aid with her.

Though he fights the Yenaldooshi, its grip on him strengthens, and he is losing his battle of wills against it. He has stayed in his cabin during the weekend, fighting, and tonight, the creature forced him, against his will, to find the home of his partner, his fellow Witness, and accost her.

The Yenaldooshi binds him, prevents him from revealing itself, prevents him from harming himself, so that even though he has tried in all manner of ways to alert, confine, banish, or annihilate the creature and himself, the creature and he remain bound in body, and increasingly, in will.

A pain grips him, blinding, fierce, and all consuming. He cries out, but instead of a human vocalization, an animal howl emerges from him.

He lowers his head and pants, saliva dripping from his mouth. The creature has once again gained ascendance.

The scents around him fill his nose. The lights of Abbie's house blind, him, scare him, confuse him. He crouches low and runs from the warm ring of light around Abbie's building toward the ominous dark shadows of the forest.

Yenaldooshi has not fed in seven days; its hold on its last host was tenuous, and the prey of the host before that was too strong. This host, this Crane host, is strong and smart, but has no clan, no group, and no family upon which Yenaldooshi can feed.

Yenaldooshi growls again and runs deeper into the forest. It must feed again, and soon.

A small scurrying in the brush turns its head, and the scent of a warm-blooded creature fills its nose.

The flesh of a raccoon will not be enough to sate the Yenaldooshi's, but tonight, that is not enough to save the animal.

A warm rush of blood fills Ichabod's mouth, and as the last pieces of his fragmented humanity leave him, he gags in disgust.

Though it fills its belly with animal viscera, Yenaldooshi is hungry for human flesh, and it will feed again soon.

_Tomorrow._


	13. Chapter Twelve

The next morning, as Abbie enters the records room, she hears a rustling of paper and a scooting of a heavy wooden chair across the tile floor.

"Crane! What was up with last night?" Abbie asks into the room. "Crane? Crane!"

"Sorry, Abs. '_These are not the droids that you are looking for.'" _

Abbie contorts her face into an expression of surprise. "Jenny?"

"Guess you are a detective after all," Jenny quips.

"What are you doing here? Why are you here?" Abbie looks at the key she still holds in her hand. "How did you get in here?"

Jenny smirks at her and rises from the chair. "How'd we get the beers from Mrs. Rodgers liquor cabinet when we were kids?"

Abbie rolls her eyes. "I said, what are you doing here?" Abbie looks around. "Where's Crane?"

"Who?" Jenny asks.

"Crane. Ichabod Crane." Abbie holds back a frustrated sigh. "Tall. Dark. British?"

"Oh, him. Haven't seen him." Jenny runs her hands over the maps and books on the table as she walks away from Abbie. "Seriously, Abbie. If you want to know where your boyfriend is, maybe you should keep a better eye on him."

"Not my boyfriend. Again, why are you here?" Abbie insists.

Jenny jumps and sits on the top of the table. "Same as you, I think. Tracking a demon. Possesses men. Kills their families. Had a dozen murders up and down the coast of Canada, I was able to track it south." Jenny removes a piece of paper from the back pocket of her pants. "Saw this, thought you might know what's going on."

Abbie walks toward Jenny and snatches the paper from her hands. She looks down and sees a picture of the Juarez crime scene. The photo of the crime scene fills the front page, and the picture's left top corner just catches the edge of the ambulance holding Abbie after her encounter with the Yenaldooshi.

"Good old Daily Voice. All the news that's fit to print, as long as it happens in Sleepy Hollow," Abbie says ruefully. "Guess it's true what they say—all politics is local."

"Yeah. Guess the demon fighting is too." Jenny jumps down from the table, grabs the newspaper clipping from Abbie and stuffs it into her pocket. "So, what's the word?"

"The Yenaldooshi has killed or tried to kill eight people. Our last attempted murder was then," Abbie says as she gestures to the picture. "Friday night. Haven't heard anything since."

Jenny nods. "When was the last murder?"

Abbie thinks in her head. "Fernando was sent to Tarrytown. Mr. Sage ended up in the hospital and the other Mr. Sage went to jail. That means it was Mrs. Jennings. Monday, last week."

"The murders were every week, on average. That means the demon will kill again. And soon," Jenny says. "We need to find it and send it back to where it came from."

Abbie scoffs. "Yeah? And how do we do that?"

"First, we find its den and destroy it, so it has nowhere to hide during the day. Then at night, when it comes out to feed, we reverse the curse separate the creature from its host. Demonology 101." Jenny smirks. "Come on, Abs. If you're going to be a Witness with a capital W, you need to get more up to speed with the whole demon thing."

"Yeah, well my resident Wikipedia of Demons and Ominous Baddies is not here right now, is he?" says Abbie. She looks at her watch and notes the time. "But he should be. Jenny, I'm worried about him."

"Who?"

"Crane. He's usually here first thing. And last night, he came to my apartment, said he needed me—"

"Booty call!" trills Jenny with surprised delight.

Abbie purses her lips disapprovingly. "Not like that. He seemed strange. Weird. Preoccupied or something."

"Fine. Tall, dark and British had a weird night. I get it. But people are dying, Abs, and if we don't do something soon, another person will die tonight." Jenny sighs and walks purposefully toward the door. "You coming?"

Abbie checks her cell phone. No text, no message. No note? Inside herself, a quiet, but insistent alarm starts to ping, and Abbie is now officially worried about Crane.

She checks her watch again and looks at Jennie. Though they are estranged, she knows that at the end of the day, Jenny is smart, trained, and brave, and as committed to the mission of averting the apocalypse as she and Crane are.

Abbie picks up a pen and paper.

"Crane, Jenny's in town. We are looking for the Yenaldooshi together. The den is the key. Give me a call, or else, find Captain Irving and let him know how the case is going. –Abbie"

Abbie leaves the note under a book on the large wooden table in the middle of the room.

"Fine. Let's go."

"Shotgun," calls Jenny.

"Who said I'm driving?" asks Abbie.

"You always drive," reasons Jenny. "Besides, I don't have a car."

"Then how'd you get here?" asks Abbie.

Jenny lifts an eyebrow. "Depends. Are you asking as my sister or as an officer of the law?"

Abbie rolls her eyes. "Forget it. I'm not asking." Abbie shakes her keys. "Come on."

Jenny smirks as she follows Abbie to her SUV.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Abbie and Jenny climb into her SUV, and Abbie turns on the engine. "All right. Where do we go?"

"I don't know."

Abbie bites back frustrated sigh. "Great. Just great."

"But we can figure out it out, Abbie. Think." Jenny turns in her seat and looks at her sister. "What do we know about the Yenaldooshi?"

"It possesses people. Makes them kill their families."

"Okay, but how does it do it? How does it physically do it?" asks Jenny.

"I don't know—it possesses them when they're in the woods. Then person goes and kills their family."

"And then what happens?" asks Jenny. Her face is determined, but inquisitive. In her line of questioning, she is like an eager professor pulling answers from a hesitant student.

"I don't know! I don't know." Abbie closes her eyes and thinks about the case notes. "There's animal fur. The Yenaldooshi changes. Becomes . . . whatever it becomes. Goes back to wherever it came from."

"So, physical being, physical form, constrained by physical laws," postulates Jenny. "In Canada, there were reports of the animals near the murders. Some sort of canine. A small wolf. A large dog. A . . . "

"Coyote? We've had coyote sightings here in Sleepy Hollow," offers Abbie.

"Okay, so where would a coyote be during the day? How far could it go and still hunt in the area at night?" asks Jennie. "Think, Abbie, think!"

"I don't know, Jenny, I don't know! What do I look like, an ecologist?" yells Abbie. "Wait."

"What? Do you know where we're going?" asks Jenny.

Abbie guns the engine. "No, but I know how we can find out where we should go."

* * *

Abbie drives from the station, up Nine, and over east on 117. At the brown sign, she makes a right and turns into the Rockefeller State Park Preserve.

A few minutes later, she and Jenny disembark her vehicle and walk toward the information station.

Abbie purposefully enters and dings the bell on the front desk for attention. Jenny turns and looks at the empty lobby. "Slow day, I guess."

A tall thin young man with dark brown hair comes to the front of the lobby. "Hi. Welcome to Rockefeller State Park preserve. How can I help you?"

"My sister and I, we're looking for where we can see coyotes," explains Abbie as she leans over the counter top. Her jacket comes open, and the movement exposes the pistol in the holster at her hip.

"Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry. Hunt is on only on non-holiday weekends from November 3 to Dec 30th."

"We're not here for a hunt." Abbie pulls her badge. "Sleepy Hollow PD. We think there's a . . . coyote that's involved human murders."

"Oh my God!" exclaims the young man.

"We're looking for where coyotes could possibly live or hide during the day. Someplace maybe that they would hide."

The young man pulls a park map from the stack of papers on his right. "We've got two known denning areas. Here, in the far east part of the park, next to Stone Barns. And there, in west park, next to the cemetery." The young man circles two locations on opposite sides of the park.

"Do you know the exact den locations? We think the . . . animal comes out at night, and we don't have that much of a search team."

"Specific den locations change every year with every litter of pups, but they tend to stay in the same general area. I'm sorry." The young man hands the maps to her. "Best I could do is ask Fish and Wildlife to come and try to trap the coyote when it's in town. Otherwise, in the forest, it's too difficult. Frankly, out here, the animals have the advantage, I'm afraid."

Abbie thinks about it for a moment. While she could use the help to find the den, the thought of exposing a group of citizens to a flesh eating demon sits ill with her better judgment. "What are we looking for when we look for a den? Trees? Lake? Cave? What?"

The young man shrugs his shoulders. "Generally, steep slopes. Secluded areas with some cover—trees, bushes. A rocky outcropping."

Abbie nods her head and picks up the map. "Have there been any sightings lately in either of these areas?"

The young man shakes his head. "I'm sorry, no. Good luck, officer."

"Thanks." Abbie and Jenny leave the visitor center and head back to the car. "Okay, we got two choices—east or west? Stone Barnes or the cemetery?"

Jenny shrugs. "You're the Witness. You're call. But if you ask me, I'd put my money on Stone Barnes."

"Why?"

"'Cause it's got sheep, Abbie. That's a steady source of food for a coyote," retorts Jenny.

"But it's a demon, Jenny. It doesn't need sheep. It needs people. And its latest attempt to eat a person was near here." She points on the map to the west end of the park. "I don't know why, but I think it's the cemetery."

Jenny looks at the map. "That's on the other side of the park. And it's too close to town. No animal would live there." Jenny looks back up at her sister. "Look, we don't have time to search both places, Abs. The Yenaldooshi will hunt again tonight." Jenny looks at Abbie with frustrated urgency. "You gotta pick one, Abs, and it's gotta be right."

Stone Barnes or the Cemetery. Abbie has one shot to get this right, or another person will die tonight.

Abbie wishes she knew with certainty what the right decision was, but all she's got is a map, a three-minute ecology lesson, and her gut.

With more confidence than she feels, the pockets the map and walks to her car door. Jenny follows suit and gets in the vehicle. "Okay, Abs, where are we going?"

Abbie climbs in the car and turns on her engine. "Hopefully, somewhere we can find the Yenaldooshi."

* * *

Abbie finally pulls into a deserted trailhead, and she and Jenny set down the path into the forest. By the time they stop, the morning sun has already burned a hazy, shrouded course toward midday. In that time, they have walked from the trailhead, along the path that bisects the area between the hill and the edge of Sleepy Hollow's cemetery, and into the heart of the forest in that area. The cloudy late fall day is overcast, and grey clouds that hang above them give the day a late feel that bullies them into anxiousness.

"Where is it?" asks Jenny with frustration after two hours on the trail. "Maybe we were wrong, maybe it's in the other place?"

"How am I supposed to know? I don't exactly go looking for coyotes every day now, do I?" asks Abbie.

"And the psychiatrist thought that I was defensive." Jenny purses her lips disapprovingly.

"Sorry." Abbie pulls out the trail map. "I don't know. Maybe you were right. I mean, unless we find it soon, we'll have try the east side of the park."

"We don't have time for that." Jenny pulls the map from Abbie's grasp and points to area between the cemetery and the bottom of the hill. "Listen Abbie, I think you were right, but I think we're doing this the wrong way. The Yenaldooshi wouldn't have a cave just off the main path. It would want to stay secret, stay hidden. It needs a steep slope. I say we pick a spot at the bottom of the hill and start looking there."

"It could be anywhere, Jenny. How do we even pick a spot start looking?" asks Abbie.

"We think like a coyote?" asks Jenny uncertainly.

Abbie sighs and closes her eyes. "Rocky outcropping, cover in front. Isolated," she recites from memory the suggestions of the park volunteer. She is tense, desperate to find the den before more people get hurt. She wishes her partner were there—his knowledge of the natural world, his experience with the forest would have been useful right now. But more over, his gentle, persistent faith in her abilities as detective and Witness would help ground her, help her listen to the quiet, trusted voice of instinct drowned out by her desperation and the strangeness of the situation. The thought of Crane calms her, and a memory on the edge of Abbie consciousness raises its hand. "The Grotto."

"What about it?"

"No, Jenny, The Grotto. Where the kids used to make out? There was a partial cave in a few years ago. No one uses it anymore. It's a few feet off the ground on a steep slope, and now it's got cover—most of the entrance is covered by the rocks of the cave-in." Abbie sets off through the underbrush toward the hillside.

"Abbie, you sure?" asks Jenny as she starts to run after her.

"No!" Abbie yells over her shoulder as she charges through the trees.

Abby and Jenny sprint through the forest, ducking branches and dodging bushes. After twenty minutes, they come to the foot of a rocky hill. In front of them is a large pile of rocks and boulders, and ten feet off the ground, along the slope of the hill, is a partially caved in entrance to hollow area in the hill's face. Next to them is a brown sign with yellow letters spelling 'Keep Out.'

Abbie and Jenny start picking their way up the rocks and boulders, putting their feet slowly and gingerly on each of the crumbled rocks before moving up the hill. A few minutes later, they are at the entrance of the cave.

"You sure this is stable?" asks Jenny.

"No. We've been keeping the kids away because the engineers say it could collapse anytime." Abbie pulls a pen-sized flashlight from her jacket. "All right, what are we looking for?"

"Evidence of kills. Bodies. Bones." A few feet more into the cave and a deep breath, and the sisters Mills find their evidence. "The stench of decay. Oh my God. That is vile." Jenny's hand flies to her nose.

Abbie contorts her face in disgust. "Come on."

A few feet more into the cave becomes ten, then twenty, then fifty feet. Finally, Abbie and Jenny find the source of the smell assaulting them. "This is it, Jenny."

In front of them is evidence of old kills. Bones and rotting flesh lie scattered in small piles at their feet. Most are small bones, animal bones and the obvious flesh and fur of the small mammals that populate the wilderness area. A few of the bones are too large to be animal bones, and to familiar to Abbie to not be human.

"This is it, Abbie. The Yenaldooshi must be using this cave. Oh my God. We gotta leave."

"Yeah. Let's figure out a way block off the cave so it can't get in," Abbie agrees as she does a final sweep of the area with her flashlight. Just as she clicks off the penlight, a small glint of reflected light catches her eye, and she pulls out her light again. "Wait. What was that?"

"What was what, Abbie? We don't have time for this. Let's go!" insists Jenny.

"I saw something. Wait." On a hunch, Abbie moves toward the glint of light and bends down to scoop through the dirt. As she sifts through the sand, the chain of a woman's necklace emerges, as does a jeweled pendant.

_Too small and too delicate to be worn around a man's neck, _thinks Abbie. The necklace in her hands triggers the memory of a disappointed Crane peering through her car window from four nights ago. "Jenny, this is Crane's necklace."

"What?"

"Crane. His wife's necklace. He wears it all the time. This is it. This is his." Abbie looks down and scoops through the dirt. A pedometer. A flashlight. A ring of keys. And a work ID of one Fernando Juarez. All these objects are hidden in the dirt next to the piles of animal remains. "Oh, my god, Jenny. These must belong to the men that were possessed. Mr. Sage was possessed while he was jogging. A flashlight, a set of keys. Mr. Juarez was possessed and attacked his wife the other night."

"But Crane's necklace?" asks Jenny.

"Oh, my god, Jenny. It's got him." Abbie rises and pockets the necklace. "The Yenaldooshi's got Crane." With renewed urgency, she starts running toward the entrance of the cave. "We have to find him. Now."

"Abbie—you said he came to you last night. Do you think he was—"

"No, don't say it. Don't even." Abbie and Jenny make it to the mouth of the cave. "Come on, help me." Abbie starts pulling at the rocks at the entrance of the cave.

Jenny looks at her baffled. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind? You're going to cause a cave in."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm trying to make sure the Yenaldooshi, that Crane can't come back here." Abbie starts pulling in earnest, and the smaller of the rocks in front of them start tumbling down the hill slope.

Jenny begins to pull rocks down with Abbie, and together, they are able to throw down the medium and larger boulders keeping the hill's face stable. Thirty minutes, then an hour passes, and the only fruit of their backbreaking work is the occasional tumble of small rocks and dirt to the cave floor. Abbie is hot, tired and frustrated.

_CRACK! _A particularly large boulder gives way underneath their combined hands, and a deep rumble comes from the stones above them.

"Oh my God."

"Jenny, get down!" exclaims Abbie. They turn, and as one, they start running down the pile of rocks. They are just able to make it back to the grass when a loud, slide of rocks, boulders, and dirt starts behind them. They run a few feet away from the hill slope, to where the tree line starts and turn.

They watch entrance of the Grotto caves in and the rocky outcropping of the roof of the cave collapses entirely. Stones and dust fall down the hill slope and when the air clears, a large pile of rocky debris extends nearly their feet to what was the roof of the cave.

"Okay, Abs. Where to?"

"Corbin's cabin."

Two more hours of sprinting down the path, and Jenny and Abbie have finally made it back to the trailhead and back to the SUV. As they fling themselves into the vehicle, Abbie looks at the green blinking light of the clock with dismay. _2:26._

The fall days are short, and Abbie knows that nightfall will come soon. She has to get to Crane before . . .

Abbie guns the engine with determination. "Come on, Crane. Let me find you," she says to no one in particular.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

From the forest, Jenny and Abbie go to Corbin's cabin. When they find it empty, they search the grounds around it and still come up empty handed.

Frustrated, Abbie and Jenny drive all the places that they know Crane frequent—the library, the church, the cemetery, the donut shop on Wildey St. near the police station. In none of those places, however, do they find the tall snarky man for whom they are looking.

In frustration, Abbie and Jenny drive back to the records room next to the police station and go inside. "Damn it, Jenny, we're driving in circles. Sunset is not that long from now, and we are no closer to finding Crane or the Yenaldooshi than we were when we left here this morning."

"We're missing something, Abs. If the Yenaldooshi's not in its den, if Crane's not in his cabin, it must be out. It must be stalking prey. It must already be hunting someone or something and must be following it around." Jenny looks hard at Abbie. "You said he came to you last night. That means you're his target. You're his prey."

"But he didn't harm me, Jenny. He came to me, said he needed my help."

"And?"

Abbie thinks now with shame upon her actions. "I turned him away. Said I'd talk to him this morning."

"Well, Abs, that may have saved your life. The Yenaldooshi needs an invitation to enter a home. If you had invited him inside, who knows what would have happened. That's what happened to the other families in Canada."

_Family? Am I Crane's family? _Abbie wonders to herself.

"Well, if he couldn't go to you, whom else would he turn to? Who else does he know?"

Abbie shrugs. "He wasn't at the cemetery. He wasn't at Katrina's grave—I know she's not in there, but he still goes there when he wants to talk to her." Abbie runs her hand through her hair in frustration. "I don't know. I don't know! There's Megan, the barista at Starbucks that he talks to. Wendy. Pam, the waitress at the diner. Yolanda, the OnStar lady."

Jenny shoots Abbie a confused glance.

"Don't ask." Abbie rolls her eyes. "There's a few cops at the station that he goes to have a beer with, but nobody really close." Abbie sits at the table and plays with the note she left this morning. "Nobody he'd really go to to ask for help."

"So he's got no one except you, Abbie?" asks Jenny. She whistles. "Tough life."

"No one else knows about Moloch, Jenny. You, me, Crane, and . . . " Abbie looks at the note in her hands that she left for Crane this morning. "I know where he's going."

"Where?"

Abbie rises to her feet. "No one else knows about Moloch, Jenny. You, me, Crane, and—" Abbie shows Jenny the note.

Jenny's eyes widen. "Where's Irving now?"

* * *

Irving and Macey are doing homework at their kitchen table. As they wait for dinner to be done, they talk about her day at school and her friends.

"So let me get this straight. You're saying Monika has a boyfriend, Jason, but that they fight all the time and are never happy with one another?"

"Yeah," agrees Macey as she works on a math problem. "We were practicing softball today, but Monika wouldn't play because she spent the whole time in the dug out arguing with him."

"They why are they dating?" asks Irving with curiosity. "Hey, make sure you remember that parenthesis. Parenthesis first, and then multiply, right?"

"Oh, yeah, thanks." Macey erases an answer and does a recalculation. "I think that they like each other, but they don't know how to work out their differences."

"Is that so?" asks Irving. Every week, when his daughter visits and he gets the update on her life and her friends, he marvels at the intricacy and intrigue of teenage social networks. "What do you think about that?"

"I think that when I find a boyfriend, I need to like him, but I need to learn how to communicate with him too," Macey decides.

Irving smiles and strokes his daughter's head with amazement and affection. "I think that sounds good, Little Bean." He looks down at her math problem. "And I think that looks like a correct answer there."

Macey beams up at him and puts down her pencil. "I think so too. You know what that means?"

Irving looks at the kitchen clock. "I think it means time for dinner."

"Lasagna!" says Macey.

"That's right. Monday is Lasagna for Macey night. But clear off the table first. Including your bat and glove. Please."

Together he and Macey begin to clear off the table when a knock on the door draws Irving from the kitchen table to the front door. He peers through the peephole and sees a tall, British consultant standing in the hallway.

Irving sighs and unlocks the door. "Crane. This had better be good if you are coming to my home during off hours."

"I need you, Captain," Crane says.

Irving's nose fills with unwashed body odor, and he recoils in thinly veiled disgust. "I'm sorry, Crane, but what you really need, I think, is possibly a shower. Something wrong?"

"I need you, Captain," Crane repeats.

Irving looks at Crane and notes the unusual level of dishevelment of his clothes and grooming. "The last time I looked like that was I got kicked out of the house for working too much," he admits quietly. "You and Mills having problems?"

Crane says nothing but continues to stand in his doorway.

Irving turns and looks over his shoulder at his daughter, who smiles at him from over her homework on the kitchen table. Irving sighs. Even though he is tired and wants nothing more to spend time with his daughter, he knows what it's like to be kicked out of his own home and have to rely on the kindness and the couch of his friends.

Feeling empathy for a man who appears as if he's had a quarrel with his partner, Irving shakes his head at his own weakness and invites him in.

"Well, if you're coming in, come in. No use standing there all night," says Irving.

Crane walks through the door, and a shiver passes through Irving's flesh. "Sit on the couch. I'll go get a blanket and some pillows and make you up a spot. Macey's just over there clearing out her homework. I'll be right back."

Crane stands next to the couch and stares hard at Macey. Irving leaves, but as he rifles through his linen closet, he finds himself unsettled by Crane's odd stare and behavior, and, on instinct, he jogs back to the living room.

He finds the tall British man walking slowly toward his daughter. "Crane!" Crane gives him no response, so he calls out again. "Crane!"

Macey looks up from her work and sees Crane walking toward her. The smile on her face fades to worry, and she drops her book bag. "Dad?"

"Macey, baby, don't move. I'm coming to you." He is afraid that if Macey tries to flee in her chair around the table that Crane will use his mobility to his advantage and trap her. "Don't worry, Little Bean, I'm coming."

"Dad?" Fear causes Macey's voice to rise. Her fingers grasp the wheels of her chair, and Irving knows that she would like to run but is being brave and listening to him instead.

"That's good, Little Bean, I've got you." Irving looks around for a weapon. His gun is in his room in his safe—too far and too complicated to retrieve quickly enough to subdue Crane. Something, anything—he finds a tall, heavy vase standing on the floor next to the couch. He picks it up by its neck and walks toward Crane.

Crane realizes that Irving is there and turns toward him, growling.

Irving's eyes go wide. "Crane, what is going on?" Irving circles around Crane, out of the hall way and through the apartment's dining room, and finally is able to stand next to Macey.

His only response is another growls and snarl from Crane. The man crouches low as if to attack.

"Crane, if you do not back down now, I am hitting you with this thing, so help me," warns Irving.

Crane pounces, but Irving smashes Crane over the head with the vase.

The force of impact stuns Crane, and the vase shatters and breaks over Crane's head. The sharp ceramic shards cut his forehead and the man in front of his yells in pain as he collapses to the floor.

"Good one, Dad!" yells Macey.

Irving turns to Macey and smiles, but the man in front of them shakes himself and stands woozily in front of them again. This time, he is angrier, and blood, sweat, and saliva drip from rivulets of liquid that run from his face.

Irving can see no trace of the brilliance or erudition that he is accustomed to seeing from this man. And then it dawns on him—Crane is no longer himself. "Little bean, we're in big trouble."

"Dad?"

"Now you listen. I am going to distract him, and I want you to get the hell out of here. Go you go, as fast as you can, and go to the neighbor's house. Ring the doorbell. Get inside and call the cops. And then you don't come out for nothing, not until another cop comes and gets you out, you understand?"

"What about you?"

"Never mind that. When I tell you go, you go. Promise me."

"Dad?"

"PROMISE ME!"

"Okay, on the count of three," says Irving as he picks up the bat from his daughter's back pack, still on the dining room table. "One. Two."

The front door bursts open, and into the room rush Jenny and Abbie Mills.

"Abbie!" yells the Captain. He is standing with a bat in front of Macey in her wheelchair. "Shoot him!"

"Crane!" yells Abbie. She trains her gun sight on Crane and clicks off the safety. "Crane!"

"I said shoot him, Lieutenant, that's an order!" yells Irving. He brandishes his bat and keeps himself between Crane and Macey.

"Crane! Turn around. Turn around! It's me, it's Abbie." Abbie calls out to Crane.

The Yenaldooshi growls once more at Captain Irving and Macey, but turns slightly to see Abbie and Jenny in the doorway.

"You," growls Crane. His voice is low and angry and drips with acid.

"That's right. It's me, Crane. You don't want Macey. You don't want Frank. You want me. You came for me that first night. Came to my apartment. You came for a reason."

The Yenaldooshi snaps its teeth and snarls. It is crouched, ready to spring, but tracks its new prey with eager patience.

"Abbie!" yells Jenny.

"Jenny, get out of the way," Abbie says as she points to her right, toward the living area. "That's right, Crane. Come to me. You know it's me you want. You want something, you gotta get it from me." Abbie takes a step toward a snarling Crane.

"Abbie!" yells Jenny.

"Captain!" shouts Abbie.

"Mills!" calls out the Captain.

"Captain, do you have my back?" Abbie asks.

"What?" asks the Captain. He is holding his bat and protecting Macey.

"I said, do you have my back?" Abbie asks.

Captain Irving flexes his hands around the bat, and he nods. "I got you, Lieutenant."

"Jenny?"

"Abbie?"

"I know what I'm doing. Don't stop me." Abbie calls out. Abbie clicks the safety back on and holsters her gun.

The Yenaldooshi, seeing this, snarls eagerly in anticipation.

"That's right, Crane. I trust you. I trust that you won't hurt me. So I'm going to turn my back on you, and we are going to walk out of this house, we are going to go back to the station, and we are going to figure this out, you hear me? You and me, together." Abbie gulps. She's got a plan, but she knows that Crane is strong and fast and the demon is hungry. _Please let this work!_ "You're my partner, Crane, and I trust you. Fight it. Fight the Yenaldooshi."

The only reply is another snarl and gnashing of teeth.

Abbie takes a deep breath. _Three, two, . . ._

Abbie turns her back to Crane.

The creature, seeing her vulnerable, pounces.

Abbie forces herself to stay still, to not run. "Now!"

The creature grabs her and sinks its teeth into her shoulder, but before it can bite down and deliver any lasting damage, it is knocked on the floor unconscious by the swift, heavy bat in Captain Irving's hand.

Abbie and Crane collapse on the floor, their bodies entwined in a tangle that mocks a lover's embrace. Though he is unconscious, Crane still clings Abbie tightly in his demon-possessed grip. Abbie is trembling, but unharmed.

"Dad!"

"Macey!" Captain Irving drops the bat, turns to his daughter, and hugs her tightly. "Macey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, dad, I'm fine," Macey replies.

"Abbie!" Jenny rushes to her side. "Oh my god, Abbie. Are you hurt?"

Abbie shakes her head. "I don't think so. Just the fall." She pulls herself carefully from Crane's rigid grasp. "Ow."

Jenny helps Abbie up from the floor. "That was dumb, you dummy."

"Don't remind me." Abbie brushes herself off and then bends down and handcuffs Crane's hands behind his back. "Come on. We don't have much time before he wakes up. Let's get him to the station."


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's notes:** Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. Thanks also with your patience.

**Rating:** T, for a swearsies in the middle.

* * *

Abbie and Jenny pile an unconscious, handcuffed Crane into the back of her SUV. Irving and Macey get into his car, and when they arrive at the station, he puts her in his office and stations a pair of officers at the door.

Abbie and Jenny bring Crane into an interrogation room and bind his handcuffed hands to the table. It is only after he is bound and Irving returns from his office that the Yenaldooshi begins regain consciousness.

Abbie looks at Crane through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. The Crane she knows, _her _Crane, she thinks, would be pacing impatiently around the corners of the tiny room, running his hand through his hair in frustration, or clasping his arms behind his back in barely successful restraint. By contrast, the Crane in front of her sits perfectly, unnervingly still. Though Abbie can see him, though she can see Crane's physical body in the room, the Crane she knows, her friend, the man who followed her into the Sandman's nightmare, is gone.

Jenny and Irving stand next to her, arguing about what to do.

"Crane is not himself. And I don't know about you, but I don't know how to make him be himself anymore. And we can't keep him here," Irving says as he gestures to the interrogation room, "certainly not forever, and probably not even for much longer than the rest of the day. So until we know what to do to bring him back, what are we going to do?" Irving tilts his head in pragmatic dismissal. "I say we put him in Tarrytown. We restrain him. Buy time to figure this thing out."

"But that could be days, weeks, months! We don't have that kind of time, and we can't just give up on him. Maybe there's some spell or incantation or talisman that will break the Yenaldooshi's hold on him," counters Jenny. Jenny turns to her sister. "Abbie, what do you think? Abbie? Abbie?"

Abbie inhales sharply and returns her focus to the people in the room with her. "Like this? Crane is dangerous. He's strong. He's smart. And if the Yenaldooshi has possessed him and is going to use him to find and eat more victims? It is unacceptable to let him loose."

"Thank you." Irving nods his head twice. "Tarrytown Psychiatric it is, then."

Abbie shakes her head. "But you're right, Jenny. This is Crane we're talking about. If it were the other way around? If it were me in there, possessed?" Abbie turns back to the interrogation room and looks at Crane. "He wouldn't give up on me. He would fight."

Jenny looks at her sister thoughtfully. "So, then Abs? What do we do?"

"We _fight_." Abbie turns to Irving. "A few more hours, Captain, that's all I ask. Just enough time to give us a way to figure out how to get him out."

"And how are we going to do that, Mills?" Irving asks.

Abbie turns to Jenny. "Jenny. You know Corbin's files better than me. Better than Crane, better than anyone. Find something on the Yenaldooshi. Not how it lives or eats, but how to remove it, how to kill it."

"And you?" Jenny purses her lips approvingly and tilted her head toward Crane through the one-way glass.

"Mama always said, Stupid is as stupid does." Abbie removes her jewelry and her belt and ties her hair into a tight bun.

"Mama never said _shit, _Abby," retorts Jenny. "What are you doing?"

"Mills, he has already tried to attack you once," warns Irving.

"I know, but I didn't have the entire Sleepy Hollow PD in the room next to me at the time." Abbie removed her jacket and her heeled shoes and flexed her bare toes on the tile. Divested of anything that Crane might use to harm her, Abbie rolled her shoulders in anticipation. "Jenny, you hurry, you find that information, and you save him. Captain, if anything goes wrong, come and get me."

"Abbie!"

"Mills!"

With a final exhale, Abbie unlocks the door to the interrogation room and walks in.

* * *

The door closed with a thud, and the lock clicked behind her with a dreadful finality.

"Lieutenant Mills." The Yenaldooshi pauses. "Ms. Mills." Another beat of silence. "Abigail."

Abbie inhales sharply at the informality of its address.

"Yes, that's it, Abigail." The Yenaldooshi shifts Crane's eyes, causing them to rake over Abbie's exposed form. Right now, Abbie regrets disrobing herself—she knows she wears her detective outfit like armor. Cobbled together from years of experience, each piece of her on duty wardrobe serves a purpose. Without those pieces, she is safe from Crane if he grabs her or attacks her, but without her armor, Abbie feels exposed.

The Yenaldooshi, with Crane's keen powers of observation, notices and takes advantage.

"Yes, Abigail. You know, he calls you that, in his head. He likes the familiarity, but it shames him."

"What? That we're friends?" Abbie counters. "Nuh uh. I don't buy that."

"No, he is shamed because he . . . " the Yenaldooshi pauses again. "Likes it. Craves it. The familiarity." The Yenaldooshi arches Ichabod's eyebrow in a perverse imitation of Crane's mannerism. "Are you very familiar? With a married man?" The Yenaldooshi smiles sarcastically, with a predatory look in its eye. "Tut tut, Ms. Mills."

_It is making you try to lose your cool. Let your guard down. Don't let it! _She thought to herself.

"That's where you're wrong. Crane and I are friends. Friends. Now maybe you don't know the meaning of that word, but that means that we have each other's back." Abbie crouched down and looked at Crane in the eyes, searching for the man she knew. "And I have your back, Crane, if you can hear me. Fight it. I'm here. Find me."

The Yenaldooshi laughs.

Abbie feels pain deep in her chest. Crane's full-throated laugh, full of rich and baritone waves, has always been as rare and it was delightful, and she has only been able to evince it a few times since meeting him. To hear it now, at her expense, is painful, but it reminds her that her friend is still held hostage, still prisoner.

"Ms. Mills, how naïve. Do you really think, after all I have gone through to find a host as strong and as worthy as this one, that I would let him go so easily?" The Yenaldooshi licks Crane's lips, and Abbie's stomach turns a flip at the sight. "Though I admit he is not a perfect host. Born of a family of privilege, he has never known hunger. He has never known famine." The Yenaldooshi fixes Crane's gaze onto Abbie. "Not like others in this room."

"Crane," Abbie warns.

"Yes, he is strong and smart. He will make a good hunter, but he does not hunger." The Yenaldooshi licks Crane's lips again. "You do."

"Crane!" Abbie warns again. "Fight it, please."

The handcuffs that they have placed on the hands and feet of the Yenaldooshi unlatch, and the Yenaldooshi rises from the chair. Behind her, Abbie can hear the interrogation room release buzz. She steps toward the door, but the Yenaldooshi flings a hand toward it, and the lock refastens. A mad cacophony of buzzing begins to peal behind her head, but to no avail—the door remains locked.

"You, who have never known home. You, who went hungry night after night in the homes of the people who would use you, and your sister, as income. You, who long for a family, for love and affection," the Yenaldooshi crooned as it stalked nearer her. "Yes, Abigail. You know hunger. You have hungered all your life. For safety. For family."

"Crane, she's too close. I don't want to hurt you, so fight it, you hear me? FIGHT!"

"For love." The Yenaldooshi reaches out a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind Abbie's ear.

Abbie breathes shallowly, her system excited by fear and something else, something caused by the proximity of Crane's familiar face so near her own, and she backs herself into a wall.

The Yenaldooshi pauses, as if listening. "He sees it you know."

Abbie scooches along the wall, away from the Yenaldooshi's caress, till she is on the other side of the room, where the Yenaldooshi was. "Sees what?"

"Your hunger. Your need." The Yenaldooshi closes in on her. "For love. For _him."_

The loud buzzing of the door continues, and now Abbie can hear thumping on the glass and hard, repetitive pounding on the door. She continues to scooch along the wall, backward, until her hip bumps into the backrest of the only chair in the room. Abbie turns toward the chair, surprised at its presence, and when she looks up, she finds herself suddenly in The Yenaldooshi's arms.

The Yenaldooshi now with Crane's voice, his arms, and his scent, coos to her seductively in his warm baritone. "Join us, Abbie. Become one of us. Join your voice in our perverted song, become a _Hunter_, and you will never hunger again."

Abbie looks at Crane's lips, and with through her own slightly parted lips, her breath catches.

_CRASH!_ A battering ram and a dozen men crash through the one-way mirror. Abbie grabs the chair from behind her and smashes the Yenaldooshi over the head with it. With a great cry, the Yenaldooshi is stunned, but makes to chase after Abbie, who is sprinting around the table toward the armed men.

The Yenaldooshi snarls and reaches out its hands toward her, but the dozen men fling Crane's body toward the floor and subdue him. Possessed of inhuman strength, Crane manages to throw four of the men off him before his finally recuffed and restrained. "No, stop! Unhand me! Unhand me! Ms. Mills! Please! Don't let them do this! Ms. Mills? Ms. Mills? Abigail? Abigail!"

Abbie tingles with the adrenaline of near averted danger as she watches the men haul Crane off to Tarrytown Psychiatric. She closes her eyes and her ears to the pitiful sound of Crane's appeals to her.

Irving walks up to her, but Abbie avoids his stare. Irving places a hand gently on her chin and turns her face. A long scar of where glass met eyebrow finds the light, and Irving whistles. Abbie jerks her face away from him and shrugs.

"You okay, Mills?" asks Irving.

"I'm fine," Abbie says. Irving looks at her, unconvinced, so she sighs and amends her statement. "I _will_ _be_ fine, sir."

"That got pretty intense in there," said Irving as he nodded to the broken glass of the interrogation room.

"Like I said, sir. Stupid is as stupid does," Abbie shrugs it off. "I'm not the one in the family with expertise on the supernatural. Guess it was a dumb idea to try to take on a demon unarmed."

"That wasn't what I was talking about, Lieutenant," Irving says with a knowing look. Abbie looks at Irving with a sharp look, but Irving just holds her gaze. "There something you should tell me about your relationship with you _partner_, Lieutenant?"

Abbie just looks at him. "Permission to follow Crane to Tarrytown, sir?"

"As long as you don't try this again," Irving replies.

Abbie nods her head twice and leaves quickly, grateful that he accepted her deflection.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Abbie follows Crane and the men to the parking lot. She yanks open the door to her SUV and climbs in, slamming the door behind her. She watches to make sure that the armored transport is secured, and waits for it to leave. As the taillights of the heavily guarded truck leave the parking lot, Abbie closes her eyes, leans an elbow against the door, and leans her head against her palm. She takes several shaky breaths, enough so that when she finally opens her eyes, she is sure that her gaze will by dry-eyed.

Abbie is still gathering her composure when her phone rings. "Jenny?" she asks.

"Abbie. I've found it," Jenny says without preamble. "We need a hatalli."

"A what?" asks Abbie.

"A hatalli. A singer. This text says that a Yenaldooshi can be shot or caught."

"But we can't do that—we'll kill Crane or have to keep him in Tarrytown—"

"But if it is not caught, then a hatalli or medicine person can sing a blessing song and reverse the curse." Abbie hears Jenny slam a book hard on the table. "The song is right here, Abs. All we need is a hatalli—"

"Where are we going to find a hatalli?" asks Abbie. "_What _is a hatalli?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what the origin of the myth is, but Google translate—"

"Google translate?" Abbie huffs with exasperation.

"Google translate thinks the word is Native American. Possibly Navajo. It means a medicine man. A singer."

_Jacob_—_Doli! _Abbie turns on her car and punches her GPS. "Jenny, come on to the car, and be ready."

She hears Jenny's chair scrape back as she stands. "Ammo or spells?"

Abbie smiles. _That's my sister. _"Spells. That book specifically. And good manners."

"Um, why?"

Abbie turns the ignition switch. "Because we're going to grandmother's house."

* * *

Jenny and Abbie in her SUV pull up to Jacob's farm. Abbie checks her gun, but keeps it in her holster. Jenny watches her inquisitively. "No firepower then, Abs?"

"We won't need it."

Jenny and Abbie sprint to the door, and Abbie rings the doorbell. Jacob answers.

"Abbie? What are you doing here?" Jacob looks over her shoulder to see Jenny. "Who's this?"

"I'm sorry, Jacob, I don't have time to explain. Where's Doli?"

"Grandma? She's here." Jacob leads Jenny and Abbie past the living room and into the kitchen. "Grandma?"

"Out here, honey," Doli calls to her grandson.

Jacob, Jenny, and Abbie find Doli seated in small pasture behind the house feeding the sheep bits of grass from her hand.

"Grandma. Abbie is here," said Jacob by way of introduction.

"Ahh, Ms. Mills. So glad to see you again," coos Doli in her singsong voice. Doli appraised Jenny. "And who have you brought with you today?"

"This is my sister, Jenny," said Abbie. "Jenny, this is Doli Ellerby, Jacob's grandmother."

"Hello Mrs. Ellerby," said Jenny with uncharacteristic formality.

"Well, hello, Jennifer Mills. Please, call me Doli," said Doli affably. She looked at Jenny and Abbie and put down the grass she was holding. "Something has happened?"

"Yes, Doli," said Abbie. "My friend, the one I talked about. Crane. He's in trouble, and he needs our help."

"I am an old woman, Abbie. What can I do?" asked Doli.

"He's been possessed. We think by something called a yenaldooshi—"

Doli hissed. "A skin-walker?" asked Doli.

Abbie nodded. "And we need a hatalli, a medicine person, to sing a blessing over him."

"A skin-walker will find a host, and capture their body, by using their desire against them. If a person who is possessed by a skin-walker has had strong desire, the hold a skin-walker has on their host will be strong, " cautioned Doli. "Even if I were to go with you, I could not say whether or not can be of help."

"But you could try? You could do this?" Abbie walked to Doli and knelt at her feet, so she was eye-to-eye with her. "You said before to trust yourself, to be honest to yourself? That you always wanted to sing the sacred songs? Well, this is your chance, Doli. To sing, like you always wanted to. To be—" Abbie paused, searching for the world.

"Hatalli," supplied Jenny quietly.

"Hatalli," repeated Doli.

"Yes." Abbie nodded her head. "Crane needs help, and I . . . need Crane—"

Jenny's eyebrows rise in surprise, and Jacob shifts uneasily.

"—so I'm asking you, please."

Doli looks at Abbie. "I do not know if I remember the songs, child," she says with sorrow.

Jenny clears her throat. "I have it here, the blessing. It's in this book."

Doli nods to acknowledge Jenny's statement. Looking at Abbie, Doli stretches her small wrinkled hand out and gently strokes her hair, like she is a child. "This Crane. He means that much to you, child?"

Abbie nods. "He is my friend. He saved me, once. I have to help him, if I can."

Doli nods. "Then I will come. I will meet your Crane man, and I will help him."

Abbie closes her eyes in relief. And when she opens them, she grasps Doli's hands gratefully. "Thank you, Doli."

"Thank you, Atsa Biyaazh." Doli stands out of her chair. "My grandson, please get my walker." Doli begins to walk from the pasture, leaving her sheep, and joins Abbie and Jenny. "Where is this Crane now?"

Jenny looks to Abbie. "He is being brought to Tarrytown psychiatric," Abbie says.

Doli, with her hunched over form and shaky walk, frowns. "Then we do not have much time. Yenaldooshi cannot be held by locks or doors. There are so many there, with no protection." Jacob arrives with her walker, and Doli accepts it from her grandson. "Sitsoi, you will stay here."

"Shimásání, may I travel with you? I would like to care for you and ensure your safety," says Jacob. He reaches out to his grandmother and places a hand lovingly on one of her own, perched on the walker.

"Sitsoi, no, you will stay here," says Doli again.

Jenny looks at her watch. Sunset is about to fall. "Abbs, the sun's going down soon. We gotta go."

"Wait," Abbie says.

"Please, Shimásání?"

Doli reaches her hand out and pats Jacob's face gently. "Sitsoi, you are a good boy. But you must stay." Doli turns to Abbie. "I am ready."

Jacob's face crumbles, but he releases her and consents. "Abbie, please take care of Doli."

Abbie is about to agree, but Doli interrupts. "We will all do our best."

Jenny turns, impatient to go. "Our best won't be good enough if we don't get there before sunset. Come on."

* * *

They bring Crane in, strapped to a gurney, and after admission, he is wheeled through the corridors toward his room. As he passes, the Yenaldooshi sees through Crane's eyes the rooms filled with people, too distracted by their own needs to heed his passage or his presence.

The Yenaldooshi grins. Locks and doors cannot hold it, and none in the hospital have the protection of home or family.

Crane is brought to his room, and suddenly, the Yenaldooshi is quiet. He allows the guards to hold him down and strap him into his bed. He knows that he is in a place full of people, a place full of prey, and no one suspects that he is a _hunter._

He is so hungry, but here, the prey are so plentiful and unaware. And unprotected.

The Yenaldooshi laughs, and Crane's strange guffaws alarm the guards exiting his small, padded locked cell. The baritone laugh thuds uselessly onto the soft fabric of the walls as the guards close the door and lock him in.

The Yenaldooshi knows to wait till night falls. And then it will _feast._


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Abbie, Jenny, and Doli pull into the parking lot of Tarrytown psychiatric. They arrive just in time to see the guards that brought Crane in exit the building and reboard the armored truck. Over the horizon, the sun has begun setting, and the rapidly purpling sky heralds night fall.

Abbie turns to Jenny. "You think we should call in the cavalry?"

Jenny shrugs. "If we shoot the Yenaldooshi, unless it's a clean, shot Crane dies."

Abbie exhales noisily in frustration. "But what if this doesn't work? What if we can't get the Yenaldooshi to leave Crane's body?"

Doli shakes her head. "There are many inside who will not have protection from the Skinwalker should he change tonight."

Abbie looks up, as if seeking an answer from the heavens. After a minute, she plunges her hand into the glove box, and pulls out a .22 caliber pistol.

"This has a full round, and the aim is true. If it doesn't work, we should be the one do it." Abbie hands the gun, safety on and handle first, to Jenny. "I owe him that much."

Jenny nods and hides the gun in the waistband of her pants. "When do you want me—"

"I'll let you know," Abbie sighs. "But I hope it won't come to it." Abbie turns and looks at the building. "Doli?"

"Yes, Atsa Biyaazh?"

"You ready?" asks Abbie hopefully.

"I am ready," Doli agrees.

Abbie unlocks the door and nods to Jenny. Jenny picks up the spell book and nods back. "Then it's time to go be big damn heroes," Abbie says as she exits her car door.

* * *

"Sleepy Hollow PD. We committed a suspect, Ichabod Crane, for evaluation this evening." With a flash of her badge, Abbie, Jenny, and Doli are escorted into the building without the customary search. They inquire the number of Crane's room, and walk down the hallway, to the elevators.

Once inside, Jenny lets out a low whistle. "Wow, Abs. I need to get me one of those."

"Yeah, well the hours suck, but there are a few perks I guess," drawls Abbie. "Never thought fighting demons would be one of them."

"I'll say," replies Jenny as she pulls the hood of her hoodie higher over her head.

A soft ding releases the trio into the hallway, and they walk together to the nurses' station.

"Lieutenant Abbie Mills, Sleepy Hollow PD. We're here to see a suspect, Ichabod Crane, who's in for an evaluation?" Abbie asks the nurse at the station.

A young, short, woman with dark, straight black hair looks up and smiles brightly at Abbie. _So innocent!_ Abbie thinks with guilt.

"Yes, front desk let us know. Please, here, I'll take you to his room."

The nurse picks up the set of keys and leads the women down the hallway to room 523. She stops in front of it and checks the chart. "Yes, Mr. Crane. He was just admitted. He is lucid, awake, and oriented, but restrained. The doctor hasn't made his rounds yet—shall I got get him for you?"

Abbie shakes her head. "No, we just need to talk to Mr. Crane for a minute. If you don't mind?"

"Yes, let me just get a guard. The door locks from the outside automatically, so once you're in, you're in. If you want out, hit the buzzer, and the guard will let you out. Okay?"

Abbie nods. The nurse replaces the chart and walks down the hallway.

Jenny leans over and whispers. "So what's the plan exactly?"

"We go in there, get the Yenaldooshi to leave Crane's body, and then we sing the blessing to banish it, I guess," says Abbie quietly. Doli nods her head in understanding.

"And if it doesn't work?" asks Jenny nervously.

"It will work," replies Abbie.

"How are you going to get the Yenaldooshi to leave Crane's body?" asks Jenny.

"Something the Yenaldooshi said to me last time," Abbie replies mysteriously. At Jenny's curious look, Abbie shakes her head. "Just leave it to me."

The nurse returns with the guard and hands him the keys. Seeing the tall, brawny member of law enforcement brings Abbie some peace, and she nods her head at him. "Thank you. We'll just be a few minutes."

"Take your time. I've got your back, Lieutenant," the guard responds as he spies her badge. He places the key in the lock. "Ready?"

Abbie looks around at Jenny and Doli, and they both nod their head. "Ready."

"Buzz the door when you want out. See you in a few minutes," agrees the guard as he unlocks the door.

Abbie walks through the door first, wary. Her eyes run a safety check of the room, looking for weapons, hiding spaces. She knows Crane is restrained on the bed, but she needs to know, in case something goes wrong, what her tactical situation is. She gestures for Jenny and Doli to follow her.

Once all three of them are in the room, the door shuts and locks behind them.

_So final,_ she thinks. She nods her head at Crane.

The Yenaldooshi laughs. "Ms. Mills. Abigail. So happy to see you again." It licks its lips and shifts in its restrains, pulling on them. "And I see you have brought guests. Wonderful." He grins and shows his teeth. "If I may say, delicious, even."

"Glad to see you too. Crane, you in there? Talk to me," says Abbie. "It's me, Abbie."

"Oh, he can hear you, Ms. Mills. The beautiful Ms. Mills. He's quite taken with you, you know. Wants to know you, protect you. Such strong urges," coos the Yenaldooshi. "Would you like to speak to him? Hear what he has to say for himself?"

Abbie nods. "Yes, please. Let me speak to him."

The Yenaldooshi rolls its eyes back into its head, and a long, hard tremor shakes Crane's body in its restraints. Crane's body breathes hard, his chest heaves, and then he is suddenly still. He sloops forward against the restraints that bind him, and slowly, he comes to himself.

"Lieutenant Mills, please," pleads Crane.

"Is that you, Crane?"

"Yes, Ms. Mills, it is I. Please, this thing that has me, it wants to wreck harm on everyone in this room, everyone in this building. And I cannot . . . I am not strong enough to stop it," he admits shamefully. "Please Ms. Mills, do what you must, but please stop it. Please stop me, before I do anything to harm others."

"Don't worry Crane. Hang in there, we'll get you out," assures Abbie.

"It is too late, I feel it come again. I know what you have to do, what you must do. And I ask you to do it." Ichabod fixes his eyes upon hers, and allows his gaze to bore into her. "My death is the only way to stop it."

At his words, Abbie takes a step toward Crane and reaches out a hand to reassure him. "There's always another way, Crane. There's always another—"

With a sudden, violent tremor, the Yenaldooshi assumes Crane's body once more, and it gnashes its teeth and snaps at Abbie. In fear, Abbie recoils suddenly, and she is caught by Jenny and Doli.

The Yenaldooshi laughs.

"I hope that wasn't the plan," deadpans Jenny.

"It wasn't," admits Abbie. She looks at Jenny and Doli once more. "This is. Get ready. When I say now . . ."

Jenny hands the spell book to Doli, who reads through the incantation. Jenny then removes the gun from the waistband of her pants.

Abbie nods once and faces Crane once more. "Yenaldooshi. Skin-walker. You said once before that Crane is strong but has no hunger." Abbie walks toward the Yenaldooshi and snaps her fingers at the demon. "Look at me. I'm strong. I'm fast. I'm smart. Just like Crane. But better. Because I know what it's like to be hungry. To want something. To need something. To have something in front of you every day that you want, that you've always wanted, but you can't have it."

The Yenaldooshi continues to snap and tremble and gnash its teeth, and Abbie continues to walk toward it.

"You were right, in the interrogation room. I've gone all my life hungry for things. For food. For family. For love. And now, I'm a Witness—a Witness with a capital W, and for what? I've turned down my dream job. I could lose my sister in a fight with a demon, and as for love . . ." Abbie wonders briefly whether Crane is still inside the Yenaldooshi. She wonders if he can see and hear what's going on. "What can I offer anyone when it's always going to be this? Chasing demons? Days, nights, searching for information in the archive? Half-truths about what I'm doing and who I'm doing it for." Abbie laughs and shakes her head sadly. "Until this stops, I can never share myself with anyone, I can never be truthful with anyone, I can never have a life with anyone, other than—" Abbie stops herself before she goes too far.

"So take me, Yenaldooshi. Take me, possess me. So I can stop being hungry. So I can learn to take what I want too, no matter the cost." Abbie shoots a glance at Jenny and Doli, and they ready themselves. "Leave Crane alone, and take me, and together, we will _feast_ on everything we've ever wanted."

The Yenaldooshi snarls once, twice, three times, then bites down hard on Crane's lip, until it bleeds. Crane's body stills, and his eyes close as his pupils roll back in his head. Again, a large tremor shakes his limbs, as if to tear his arms and legs from their sockets, and then he slumps forward once more.

In front of Abbie stands a large coyote, its teeth bared and lips snarling. Its hackles are raised, and it stalks toward Abbie as if she is prey, coming close to her step by predatory step.

Crane rouses, and sees the Yenaldooshi approaching Abbie. "No! Ms. Mills! Please!"

"That's it, come to me. Take me, Yenaldooshi," coos Abbie.

"Abigail! Abigail! ABIGAIL!" yells Ichabod.

The coyote coils and with a giant, fearful leap, springs to claim its host.

"ABBIE!" yells Ichabod.

"Now!" yells Abbie.

Doli closes her eyes and begins her incantation. At once frail and quiet, Doli's voice grows in volume and strength until, finally, the notes of her song fill the strange acoustics of the padded room. A wind swirls around them and tosses their hair toward the ceiling, and the Yenaldooshi, caught in the middle of the vortex, is lifted from the floor. The coyote reacts as if it is in pain, curls in onto itself, and whines loudly.

Abbie looks at Crane, and she sees his tired eyes fill with wonder.

"Abbie," he exhales.

"Not now, Crane," Abbie admonishes.

The wind around the coyote swirls more violently, and large slashes being to appear on the body of the coyote. Blood seeps from its wounds and is taken up by the hurricane now taking up the room.

The coyote yelps, and opens its eyes, now red and angry. A red glow begins to emanate from the eyes and mouth of the Yenaldooshi, and suddenly, Jenny gives a loud cry of surprise.

The gun, whipped from her hand by the wind, strikes Doli in the temple, and Doli crumbles to the floor, lifelessly like a rag doll.

"No!" cries Abbie. She runs to Doli and falls to the ground, gathering her in her arms.

The coyote falls to the floor, bleeding.

"Doli? Doli? Doli!" Abbie gently smacks Doli's face trying to force her to come to.

Doli wakes and pushes the book feebly toward Abbie. "Atsa Biyaazh." Doli sighs and passes out again.

_Daughter of the eagles,_ Abbie thinks in a panic. _Two things from my mother—my eyes, and my voice. _Abbie looks at the book and looks at Crane, pleading.

In the middle of the room, Abbie's cries to Doli have roused the coyote. It stands and shakes itself.

"Um, Abbie?" asks Jenny. She raises her gun and clicks off the safety.

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" cries Crane. Jenny fires a shot that hits its mark, but the coyote is left unaffected.

Jenny, Crane, and Abbie hear the door of the room unlock, but the Yenaldooshi flicks its head toward the door, and the room is sealed once more. Behind the door, the guard pounds and pounds the door, but Jenny, Crane, and Abbie focus on the coyote now stalking the Lieutenant.

Abbie blinks down and looks at the book. The letters swim before her eyes, but she picks up the book and begins to chant an aimless wandering melody. She fits the words to the notes, letting the strength of her fear guide the turn of her song. Soon, she finds only strength inside of herself, her fear decreasing with each note that leaves her body. She stands, and the air around them begins to swirl once more.

Jenny looks around her, confused. "What the—"

Like Doli's song, Abbie's melody grows in strength and volume until her voice fills the padded room. The wind around them grows more violent.

The Yenaldooshi cringes in pain, but watches Abbie as she sings her song. With one last snarl, the coyote pounces, its claws and snout raised as if to attack her.

Abbie holds up a hand, and the Yenaldooshi hangs suspended in mid-air, writhing. No longer able to break free from the tornado called forth by Abbie's song, the Yenaldooshi begins to bleed again from cuts and tears that rip the fur from its flesh. The Yenaldooshi whines and howls and bleeds until all the fur is torn from its skin. In a final flash of bright red fire, the Yenaldooshi burns and is gone from the room.

The book of spells drops at Abbie's feet, and Abbie's limp form soon follows.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

The door, no longer held shut by the Yenaldooshi's spell, bursts open, and a dozen men in uniforms enter the room.

"Abbie? Abbie? Abbie, please?" Crane calls to her. Panicked, he calls to the guards. "Please, is she alive? Does she live? Please, Abbie! Abbie?"

The guards with their guns surround Jenny. Jenny drops the gun and puts her hands in the air. The guards also move to surround Crane, who is still restrained in the bed.

A guard gathers Doli from the floor, and takes her out of the room for treatment.

The guard from earlier kneels by Abbie and checks her vitals. "Still breathing."

Crane and Jenny sigh in relief.

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant?" The guard slaps her cheek lightly, trying to rouse her.

With a sudden, choking breath, Abbie wakes and sits up in a panic.

"Easy Lieutenant," warns the guard.

Abbie looks around at Crane and Jenny. "Where's Doli?"

"We got her, someone's taking care of her," said the guard.

"The Yenaldooshi?"

"You did it, Abbie," calls out Jenny. The men around her cock their guns. "I'm not doing anything, guys."

The guard in front of Abbie nods his head. "I saw it, Lieutenant. Whatever it was disappeared in a flash. I don't think it's here anymore."

Abbie closes her eyes in relief. She opens them suddenly. "Crane? Crane!" She tries to turn around to see Ichabod.

"Easy, easy. He's right here. See?" The guard turns her around slowly, and she is able to see Ichabod, still strapped to the bed. Abbie raises her eyebrow. _You okay, Crane?_ she asks silently.

Ichabod gives a short nod of the head. _I'm here, I'm all right,_ he replies, their Witness bond giving strength to their silent communication.

Abbie tries to stand, but fails, and the guard places a hand on her arm to still her. "I've got you, Lieutenant." The guard picks Abbie up off the floor. Abbie, too tired to resist, allows herself to collapse onto his chest. "See? I told you, I've got your back."

"Thank you," she says before losing consciousness once more.

* * *

The same night the Yenaldooshi is defeated, Jenny is released to the custody of Captain Irving, to whom she tells the story of the night's events. The following day, Crane is similarly retrieved by Captain Irving and allowed to go home to Corbin's cabin.

After rest and observation for concussion, Doli is released to the care of Jacob, her grandson.

A week passes until Abbie is able to walk around by herself again. While she is unwell, she is housed at Tarrytown, under the protective watch of the doctors and guards of the building. With time, she regains herself, and is able to chat with the visitors and friends that come by to see her—Captain Irving, Jenny, a couple of guys from the precinct.

The day Abbie is released, the guard who protected her comes to say goodbye.

"I hear today's your last day, Lieutenant," he says.

Abbie chuckles and sits up slowly from her bed. "That's what I hear too. Don't know who's idea it was, but as long as they're thinking it, I'm going to take advantage and get the heck out of here."

"Eager to leave us, then?" the guard asks. His dark brown eyes dance with a teasing light.

"Eager to have a real meal. You guys are great, but the food here?" Abbie laughs.

"Tell me about it." The guard pulls a card from his chest pocket and gives it to her. "When you're ready for a real meal, Lieutenant, give me a call."

Abbie's eyebrows rocket to somewhere near her hairline in disbelief. "You asking me on a date?" She looks at his card. "Reginald?"

Reginald shrugs and grins at her. "What can I say? I never could resist a damsel in distress."

"Well, that's the first time I've ever been called a damsel. Or been in distress that I couldn't get myself out of," laughs Abbie. "But I guess this week has been a week of firsts." Abbie looks at his card and looks at Reginald again. "Well all right, Reginald, I'll be giving you a call, then."

Reginald grins even wider and winks at her. "Looking forward to it, Lieutenant."

"Only one person calls me Lieutenant," Abbie laughs. Abbie shakes her head and shakes her hand. "It's Abbie. Just Abbie."

"Abbie. Nice name," remarks Reginald. He turns to leave the room. "Feel better, Lieutenant Abbie. And I'll be looking forward to our meal."

"Me too, Reginald. See you," Abbie waves. She looks down at Reginald's card and smiles.

* * *

Later that day, Abbie is released to the custody of Captain Irving.

Abbie is waiting in a wheelchair in the front of Tarrytown psychiatric when Captain Irving pulls up in his SUV.

Irving steps out of his car and helps Abbie from her wheelchair. "Nice wheels, Detective."

"Comes standard with a week stay," Abbie retorts as she climbs into his car.

"And who says it's hard to find good service these days?" Captain Irving quips as he closes his car door.

Irving drives Abbie back to her apartment in silence. When they arrive, he helps her unpack her things and settle into her apartment.

When she's settled, she sits on the couch, exhausted. Irving gathers his keys and gives her a small salute of good-bye.

"Wait. Sir. Please," Abbie calls. "Thank you, sir, for taking care of me. I appreciate you picking me up and bringing me home. Getting me settled."

"Well, I have a debt to pay, Lieutenant, and I mean to see that it is paid." Irving shifts on his feet uneasily. "Thank you, Mills, for saving Macey. For saving my baby girl."

For once, Irving and Mills look at each other with mutual respect. After a moment, Irving gives a farewell nod of his head and Mills ducks her head with a smile. "Take care, Mills."

"Thanks," she replies.

"Oh, and if you see that partner of yours, tell him Lacy loved the game. We both did."

"Sir?" asks Abbie.

"Front row seats to a Yankees game. I don't know how he did it, or how he paid for it, but however it happened, tell him thanks." He gives her a last nod before he leaves. "See you back on duty next week."

"See you, Captain," agrees Abbie. She watches him leave and shut the door behind her.

Finally, ensconced in the cushions of her own couch in her own home, Abbie feels safe enough to shut her eyes and allow sleep to overcome her.

* * *

When she wakes two hours later, it is to the smells of a kitchen full of cooking food.

Abbie blinks herself awake and sits up. "Hello?"

"She lives," comes the quippy retort. The clanging and stirring of pots and pans halts, and a familiar form comes into Abbie's view.

"Jenny?"

"Still a detective. Good to know." Jenny returns to the kitchen.

Abbie tries to rise from the couch, but her exhaustion keeps her prone. "Ow."

"Yeah. Easy does it." Jenny returns from the kitchen, this time carrying a mug, which she hands to Abbie.

Abbie takes it and sips it absently. "Oh, yuck. What is this?"

"You're welcome," says Jenny. "It's herbal tea."

"Blech. Give me coffee any day."

"But not today, Abs. You need to lay off for a while. Doctor's orders," says Jenny. "Drink it. Please."

Abbie raises her eyebrows in surprise, but she drinks the tea. "Please, huh?"

Jenny rolls her eyes and returns to the kitchen. "Chicken soup and grits, Abby. Easy food tonight. Well, for awhile."

"Easy to make?" asks Abbie.

"Easy to make, easy to eat, easy to freeze," concedes Jenny.

Abbie sips her tea carefully. Thoughtfully. "You're leaving, then?"

"Yeah. Duty calls. Another day, another demon, and besides, there's always a good fight that needs fighting somewhere," calls out Jenny from the kitchen.

Abbie is quiet. "But you've been here the entire time? I've been at the hospital for a week."

"Yeah, well, you know. Slow week in freedom fighting. Also, I needed a place to do my laundry."

Abbie finishes her tea and sets the mug on the coffee table. She closes her eyes again and drifts off, only to be woken a few minutes later by Jenny, who is holding a bowl of warm soup.

"Here, Abs. You gotta eat. At least a little."

Abbie accepts the bowl of soup gratefully. "Mmm. Chicken soup."

"Just like mom used to make," says Jenny. "Well, maybe. I wasn't really old enough to know."

"It's pretty close, Jenny." Abbie smells the soup and eats a spoonful. "Actually, it's really good. What's in this?"

"The usual. Except I added ginger, lemon, and lemon grass." Jenny leans back and turns on the TV. "Something I picked up when I was in Asia, fighting the—" Jenny stops. "Well. Just, fighting."

"Cooking and fighting. And spells. Is there anything that the great Jenny Mills can't do?" Abbie asks.

"Stay in one place," retorts Jenny. She looks back at the TV. "I mean, seriously, Abbie. Five nights a week? Why would you even want to watch the same show every night of every week?"

For the first time, Abbie looks at her little sister. She knows that Jenny is brave and smart and restless—it is that combination of courage and searching that is her sister's special brand of amazing.

Jenny turns from the TV to find Abbie staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." Abbie shakes her head and resumes eating. "You know, I don't know if you've thought about it, but you saved Macey from the Yenaldooshi. Saved Crane. Saved all of us."

Jenny quirks her face in annoyance. "That's a tall bill of sale."

"No, really. If you hadn't come, if you hadn't know to look for the den, we would have never found out about Crane, never found Macey in time, and more people would have been killed." Abbie eats her soup for a few more minutes. "So, thanks, little sister."

"I didn't do anything."

"We both know you did. And thank you for doing it," says Abbie with finality.

Jenny shifts uncomfortably on the couch. "Well thank you, Abbie, for risking your life. And for singing the blessing—didn't know you had it in you."

"I didn't either, to be honest. It was Doli who knew. Told me to be true to myself. Reminded me of mom and the singing we did," admits Abbie.

"Oh my gosh, don't remind me," smirks Jenny.

Abbie knows that Jenny won't allow her to say everything she needs to say, but she tries anyway. "Seriously, Jenny. Thanks for this, for saving everyone. And I know you have your own life, and you're always on the move, but if you ever want to stay in one place for awhile, just know that you always have a place here, or wherever I am."

Jenny's only response is a blink and a flick of the channel, but Abbie knows that Jenny's lack of snark is, itself, the best response that she could hope for.

Abbie finishes her bowl of soup and places the bowl on the table. She lies back down in her side and closes her eyes.

In a minute, she feels the couch shift, and Jenny's thin frame fills the space in front of her own prone form on the couch.

Abbie smiles, reaches out a hand, and brings Jenny into an affectionate embrace. With her other hand, she gently strokes Jenny's hair.

"This was your favorite when you were little, you know. Mom did it."

"Then you did. I remember." Jenny pauses. "What did we used to say?"

"Two Mills sisters, heart to heart," starts Abbie.

"Ain't nothing in the verse—" continues Jenny.

"Can break us apart," they finish in unison.

Though she knows this rare moment of affection is fleeting, Abbie allows herself to sink into its comfort. Two minutes later, she falls asleep.

When she wakes the next morning, she is by herself. But the fridge full of frozen soup and grits lets her know that she is not alone.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Author's notes:** Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! It's my first time writing in the Sleepy Hollow fandom, and it has been lovely. What a great show, right? One more week, and new episodes are here!

**Rating:** Um, T?

**Author's notes, 2:** Should have called this chaper stories and starlight, for the ending, and also for the gentle, sideways reference to the 11th doctor (Who!). Thank you again for all your kind comments!

* * *

Ironically, Abbie's pile of _Some Day_ turns into time-filling leisure during her convalescence. During her week of recovery at home, she reads, paints her toenails, catches up on her hours of TiVo, and sorts through all of the things that she has left on the table for later until only one thing remains.

Friday morning, when she wakes, as she gets herself a cup of decaf coffee and walks around her apartment, the brightly colored yarn hat she won at the Ellerby farm beckons to her.

For the rest of the day, as she watches TV from her couch, catches up on the newspapers, or tidies her apartment in preparation for the work week next week, the bright colored yarn hat catches her attention from the corner of her eye.

By the end of the day, as she is heating the last of the soup and grits, Abbie realizes that she has spent enough of the day worrying about the unfinished business she is avoiding.

From the kitchen, she goes to the living room and picks up her cell phone. A punch of a few numbers, and the trill of a phone ringing fills her ears. "Hey. It's me. Abbie. Listen, if you have time tomorrow, I'd like to stop by, come see you." A pause. "Okay, tomorrow. Thanks. See you then."

As she hangs up the phone, she resolves to herself that tomorrow will be a beginning.

* * *

The next day, near evening, Abbie pilots her SUV on winding roads toward her destination. As she leaves the city, past fields of grass, farmhouses, and the outskirts of the forest, she drums her fingers on the steering wheel of her car, pondering the words that she is going to say.

On autopilot, she makes the familiar turns up the long country road until she gets to her destination. It has been a week since she has last took these roads, last traveled this path, and though nothing has changed from then to now, everything, to her, feels different and new.

It feels like a new beginning.

Abbie walks up to the rustic building and raises a hand to knock on the door when it swings wide open.

"Hello," says Abbie.

"Lieutenant." Crane throws open the door wider open. "Please, come in."

"Thanks," Abbie replies.

"You are most welcome," admits Crane. He offers her a seat at the table and a cup of tea. "I am curious. How did you know to contact me at the police station yesterday?"

"I knew you couldn't stay home. Figured you would want to keep busy." Abbie shrugs. "Listen, Crane, I—"

"Lieutenant, I must apologize—"

Together, they tumble over each other's words and are stopped short by the lingual traffic jam.

Abbie waits, and Crane yields the metaphorical floor to her with a small bow.

"Earlier today, I met with a man and his grandmother. Jacob. The baseball player we met last week?" she asks in order to jog Crane's memory. Crane gives a nod of assent, and she continues. "I met him and his family last week. His grandmother, Doli. She's the one who came with Jenny and me to . . . help you. To break the Yenaldooshi's curse."

Crane senses that she is building to something significant to her, so he waits patiently for her to unfold her story.

"Anyway, she told me then, and told me today . . . what she told me doesn't matter. The important thing is that she reminded me that I need to be more truthful. To myself. To you. And because I haven't been, I wanted to come today to start over. Start fresh."

Crane holds up a hand to stop her, but Abbie continues. "So here I am. Starting fresh. Starting over." Abbie puts down her mug of tea and holds out her hand to him. "Abbie Mills. Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department. I'm stubborn, practical, not used to demons, and have a hard time trusting people. And sometimes that includes myself. Nice to meet you."

Crane ponders her outstretched hand. After a pause, he takes her hand in both of his own, carefully, and with great respect. "Ms. Mills, honest you may be, but you do not tell the whole story." Crane sighs and worries her hand gently with his thumb. "You say that I must meet you anew, but Lieutenant Grace Abigail Mills, I know you. You are brave and kind. Fierce. Loyal. And you are, to me, not just a fellow Witness, but a friend."

Something inside of Abbie releases its grasp, and she exhales with relief. "Look, Crane, about that . . ."

"Lieutenant, I must confess that while the creature, as it possessed me, told many an untruth, it was truthful in one thing. I am . . . dishonored by the weakness that allowed the creature to possess me," admits Crane.

"But that's just it, Crane. Your strength saved us. I mean, how many times do you come to me when the demon was inside of you, and you still didn't hurt me? In Tarrytown, you warned me, asked me to do what was needed so that the Yenaldooshi could be killed. That's not weakness, Crane, that's strength. That's sacrifice. And that's all you," responds Abbie. "And as for becoming possessed, Crane, I mean come on. What could you have done, Crane? It was a demon. Sent from Hell. It's not like it walked right up to you and gave you a choice, did it?" reasons Abbie.

Though the memory is blurred, Crane remembers the choices he made that allowed the Yenaldooshi to claim him. He remembered the thrill of his blood as he watched the naked-Abbie creature walk naked into his arms. He recalls the glide of skin on skin as he caressed the form that he thought belonged to the detective. And it is with equal parts shame and vicarious excitement that he recalls the satisfaction of finding intimate release with her. As he looks at Abbie in front of him, he finds he is unable to respond to her question.

Abbie takes his silence as assent. "See? What happened, Crane, was not your fault. You didn't do those things, it was the Yenaldooshi, the demon inside of you. And however it happened, I am grateful that you came back. Safe."

"And I thank you for all that you have done to ensure that I did come back. Safe," Crane says quietly in response.

For a moment, these two Witnesses look across at one another over the gulf of gender, time, and convention. And in that brief moment, as their hands are clasped and they contemplate the events of the last two days, the small seed of connection planted between them by fate sprouts and grows roots in the soil of their shared experience.

Today, a friendship is forged—stronger and deeper than what came before because it has survived testing and trial and hardship.

Abbie's hand is still held in both of Crane's, and she again gives the palm in her hand a squeeze. ""Abbie Mills. Sleepy Hollow Sheriff's Department. I'm stubborn, practical, not used to demons, and have a hard time trusting people. Except my partner, because I trust him and will always tell him the truth from now on. Nice to meet you."

The corner of Crane's mouth lifts infinitesimally. "Captain Ichabod Crane of Washington's Revolutionary Army. I too am stubborn. I can be arrogant. Too sure of myself and too unwilling to admit weakness to allow myself to be dependent on others." Abbie raises her eyebrow, and Crane's small smile breaks into a grin. "Except for my wife, Katrina. And now my partner, Lieutenant Abbie Mills, upon whom I will always rely and trust, as she relies upon and trusts me."

"Partners?" asks Abbie.

"Indeed. And friends," replies Ichabod.

With a final shake of hands, they release themselves and laugh. Abbie picks up her mug and takes another sip of tea. "So Irving says that you bought he and Macey tickets to a baseball game. Front row seats. That was nice."

"Ah. Yes. Well, to apologize for my actions when possessed by the Yenaldooshi, I felt the need to make a gesture. As I interrupted a time of familial bonding, I reasoned that I should extend to them the chance to spend time together in a special way."

"A baseball game?" asks Abbie.

"Quite. Seeing as how my own recent experience taught me what a pleasurable activity a base-ball game could be, I could think of no better offer to make," Ichabod replies.

"That must have set you back a pretty penny," says Abbie. A thought occurs to her. "The game ball. You found a way to sell it on eBay? Is that how you paid of the tickets?"

Crane gives her a quiet tut of disapproval. "The thought had occurred to me, and once I was able to ask Jones to direct me to eBay on the ninnanet, I realized how valuable indeed the ball was. But no, I did not sell it." He stands from the table and moves to his room. "Ah, yes, here!" he calls from his room. When he enters again the main area of the cabin, he is holding an object behind his back.

"Then how did you pay for the tickets, Crane?" asks Abbie. "Crane?"

"Not important. What is important is that I still have this—" Crane brings from behind his back a small ball encased in glass. A baseball. The game ball from Abbie and Crane's day together.

"You still have it!" exclaims Abbie.

"Of course. And now, in good conscience, I can give it to its rightful owner." Crane proffers the ball to Abbie.

"But you caught it, Crane, fair and square."

"But you provided the glove. Took me to the game. And possessed the forethought to get it signed. While those on eBay may appreciate its material worth, for myself, I am afraid that its true value is as a reminder of the day that we shared, and our friendship." Crane takes the ball in the small glass case and folds Abbie's hands around it. "For this, for the day, and for all the other things, I thank you."

Abbie smiles and turns over the case in her hand. "And I have something for you." Abbie pulls a small jewel on a chain from her pocket.

"Katrina's necklace?" says Crane with wonder. His hands fly to his throat. "Where? How did you-?"

"Jenny and I found it when we were looking for the Yenaldooshi. It's what led us to you. Let us find you."

Crane gives a thoughtful pause. "Katrina gave this to me. Told me that it was a good luck talisman." Crane outstretches his hand and takes the chain carefully and with reflective reverence. "She said that as long as I wore it, it would return me home. Return me safe and sound to her. I wear this in the hopes that one day, she will likewise be returned safely to me." Crane takes the necklace and places it gingerly around his neck and hides it safe under his shirt. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Abbie feels a small squeeze somewhere near the vicinity of her heart. But now, instead of stuffing the feeling down and ignoring it, Abbie embraces the feeling, knowing that just as Katrina owns Crane's heart, Abbie shares with Crane a hard-earned respect and trust. And for her, the respect and trust of her partner is enough. With that hard-fought knowledge, Abbie gives Crane a thoughtful smile and changes the subject. "Okay, give. How did you pay for the tickets, Crane? If it wasn't the ball?" asks Abbie.

Crane waves away the question impatiently. "My pay from the Army. Evidently, when held in a bank for many years and passed on to the nearest living relative?" Crane shrugs. "Though it was odd to have had to claim relation to myself."

Abbie's eyes widen. "That's two hundred thirty years of compounding interest, Crane. That would mean—"

Crane shrugs. "That I can finally thank you properly for everything you have done for me, Lieutenant. If I may prey upon your good will a bit longer? May invite you for a night upon the town?" He stands and waves his arms enthusiastically around the room. "Anything you'd like to do, anywhere you'd like to go. That is, within the range of conveyance of your mechanized vehicle," Crane qualifies.

Abbie looks at Crane and looks at the baseball encased in glass in her hand. She knows that she and Crane have ahead of them seven years of being Witness, of defeating demons and of hard personal sacrifice. But after defeating the Yenaldooshi, reconciling with her sister, and strengthening her friendship with Crane, today, being a Witness doesn't feel like a sacrifice, but a privilege, and one that she is happy to share with the man in front of her.

"Why would I want to go anywhere when everything I want is right here?" asks Abbie rhetorically. "Last week, didn't you say something about the hospitality of your porch and some tales told better by starlight?"

"Yes. A small encampment here. In the woods. Simple fare and tales told by starlight." A broad grin spreads across Crane's face, and he hastens to gather supplies. "A moment, Lieutenant, and all will be well."

Later, as she sits in the glow of the campfire, listening to an animated Crane tell stories of his time as a boy in England, it is with contentment that Abbie thinks to herself that all, indeed, is well.


End file.
